


Find a Place for You and Me

by madmorr



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Implied Sexual Content, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmorr/pseuds/madmorr
Summary: Sad Scott needs some reassurance when Mitch returns from Paris





	1. Remember

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song Mitch tweeted that he said makes him sad, Nurtureworld by Kingdom. Sorry for any typos, I don’t have anyone to beta for me so I just do the best I can on my own. Hope you enjoy!

Scott wakes up at 3:30 in the morning to a burning thirst in his throat, still dehydrated from all the alcohol he’d consumed the past few days. He reaches for his water glass on the bedside table only to find he forgot to put one there before bed. Rolling out of bed with a groan, he makes his way downstairs to the kitchen. After quenching his thirst by chugging an entire glass of tap water, he turns to head back upstairs to bed when he spots the glass door that leads to the balcony is slightly ajar. A cold panic grips him for a second before he sees Mitch sitting outside. He’s curled up on one of the chairs with his knees pulled up to his chest, dwarfed by a giant puffy black coat draped around his shoulders. His chin rests on his knees and he’s looking out toward the city lights. Scott’s heart throbs before he remembers that he’s supposed to be upset with Mitch. He stands frozen for a minute, just watching him through the window. He’s right there, only twenty feet away, but the distance feels greater than the ocean that separated them for the past week.

While Mitch was in Paris, Scott had defiantly partied the week away, snap chatting constantly as evidence of his ability to survive just fine without Mitch. When Mitch had called to check in and suggest he take it easy with the alcohol, Scott had more or less told him to fuck off and accompanied friends to Las Vegas to continue partying. Consequently, Mitch hadn’t called again and there’d been no joyful airport reunion. Mitch had gone straight from the airport to hang out with his friend Kris and must have gotten home sometime after Scott fell asleep. 

Scott’s tempted to stay angry with Mitch for basically ignoring him, but realizes the battle’s already lost when he notices him bobbing his head lightly to whatever music he’s listening to and feels his heart swell with affection and longing. He misses his friend. Scott relents and moves quietly out onto the porch.

Mitch startles slightly when he sees Scott and pulls his earbuds out. “Oh. There you are,” he says, like he’s been expecting him which seems a little ridiculous since it’s the middle of the night but in some way, Scott understands what he means. He can’t help but notice the sad, tired undertone to Mitch’s words.

“Here I am,” he answers simply. “Jet lag?” he asks and Mitch nods as Scott sits down in the chair next to him. Mitch holds one of his earbuds out to him, a peace offering. Scott smiles hesitantly and scoots his chair closer so he can listen with Mitch. It’s the song he tweeted earlier and after awhile Scott deciphers the lyrics of the subtle vocal sample. He watches Mitch’s lips move with the words as he nods his head and stares out at the hills. 

Mitch has the song on repeat and the endless loop lulls Scott into a contemplative mood and his thoughts end up at Mitch, as they so often do. More specifically, the memory of an agreement they’d made years ago. In a nutshell, they’d both acknowledged the inevitability of a romantic relationship between the two of them. Only 19 and 20 at the time, they were in way over their heads, scrambling to figure out how to maintain a lasting friendship in light of the pivotal realization. So Mitch, sensible as always, had asked for something that turned out to be one of the hardest things for Scott to give: time. Time to grow up a little, and figure themselves out independently.

Since then, Scott has put his everything into Pentatonix, and what’s leftover into Superfruit. He hangs out with friends, he parties. He and Mitch spend time together, never enough time, but that’s okay. They’re doing everything that people in their twenties are supposed to do. It’s a delicate balance, difficult to maintain, but they try. They date other people and get jealous. They slip up when they're drunk and end up making out. It isn’t perfect, and Scott often finds himself simultaneously wishing for more while struggling against the hold Mitch has on him.

Sometimes, one of Scott’s girlfriends will complain to him about a seemingly endless search for their soulmate. They don’t understand how equally difficult it can be to meet your soulmate young. He and Mitch struggle every day with the intensity of a relationship strong beyond their years. It’s hard to be young and careless while carrying a love that feels a century old, and is equal parts fragile and unbreakable. 

Scott yearns for the future, a quieter, slower time when he and Mitch will finally be together, when it’s him he’ll fall asleep next to each night and wake up with in the morning. But he knows that he has to appreciate the present, that’s the whole point of this agreement, to enjoy being young and leave the heavy, serious relationship business for later. They know that they’ll spend the rest of their lives together, so why rush? It’s hard, seeing Mitch in the arms of other men, but the jealousy is natural, and Scott knows he has nothing to fear. That confidence, the unwavering knowledge that at the end of the day, Mitch is his and he is Mitch’s, is what makes it possible to let go of the possessiveness. It’s a privilege really, to watch Mitch grow in his confidence and independence and see him come into his own with such grace. Scott doesn’t want to step in too early and stunt Mitch’s progress because watching him develop and become a little more himself each day is one of Scott’s greatest joys. 

Scott focuses again on the lyrics of the song that prompted the spiral of introspection, and the melody that fills him with a strong feeling of melancholy. As much as he’d wanted to be okay with Mitch leaving for a week, now that he’s back he can’t ignore the emotional strain that his absence caused him. Scott doesn’t notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until Mitch glances over at him and adopts a look of concern. He pulls his earbud out, then Scott’s, and climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Scott exhales a shaky sigh, it’s the first time they’ve touched since Mitch left for Paris. 

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Mitch whispers. On the surface, it’s an apology for the cold shoulder, but Scott understands the greater implications of his words.

“I don’t mean to hurt you either.”

“But we do it anyway sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll always remember you and me, no matter where I am or who I’m with. You have to know that Scott.”

“I do know. Guess I just need to be reminded sometimes.”

Mitch gazes at him solemnly for a moment before his eyes flutter closed and he leans forward, pressing their lips together. It’s not like the few hot, intoxicated kisses they’ve shared in loud, hazy clubs or a silly kiss for a skit. Its intentional, for just the two of them. Like a someday kiss, an echo of things that haven’t even happened yet. Scott feels the all the tension from the past week flood from his body and he relaxes into the kiss, reveling in the way their lips move together. Mitch breaks the kiss with a soft sigh, but stays close, hovering in his space. He tilts his head, bumping his nose against Scott’s in a sweet, almost playful gesture. Scott nudges him back, savoring the rare few seconds of honest intimacy.

“I miss you,” Scott breathes against his lips.

“I’m right here Scott,” Mitch breaths back, “I always will be,” and ducks his head to rest it on Scott’s shoulder. 

Mitch still isn’t his yet, he knows that. They’ll find their place in love together someday, but for now their place is in their friendship and their youth. They’ll hurt each other and make up and then do it again. They just have to trust that it will all even out one day.

They sit so long that the first hint of daylight starts to warm the horizon and Mitch falls asleep curled on Scott’s lap, breathing softly against neck. Scott adores the feeling of having Mitch gathered in his arms, it feels so achingly right. Before he can get carried away, he adjusts his hold on Mitch, stands carefully, and carries him to his room. He bends over and lays his sleeping friend down gently in his bed but before he can straighten up and tiptoe away, Mitch stirs and closes a hand on the hem of his t-shirt.

“Scott?” Mitch mumbles, eyes still closed. 

“Yeah?” he whispers, moving to kneel at the edge of the bed.

“Think I might be ready.”

“Ready for what sweetheart?”

“For you. Ready to do this.” His next words come out as a garbled, sleepy sigh but Scott hears them, clear as day. “Jus you an me.”

When Scott doesn’t reply immediately, Mitch opens his eyes halfway and watches him drowsily, looking like he’s seconds away from losing consciousness. Surprised by the unexpected declaration, Scott has to work to keep his tone soft and soothing when he answers. 

“We can talk in the morning, babe," he says, realizing as he speaks that it already is morning. "Rest now.”

“Kay,” Mitch yawns and Scott waits by his bedside until his breathing slows and deepens, trying not to let his noisy thoughts wake him.

Scott can’t allow himself to hope, this is just what happens between the two of them when their inhibitions are lowered by alcohol or sleep deprivation. For Scott, the result is almost always physical. He becomes clingy, and can’t seem to let go of Mitch. For Mitch, it’s usually a verbal infraction. He says things he doesn’t mean, his teasing becoming more suggestive with each drink. But he’s never said it outright like that before. Scott spends the next hour tossing and turing in his bed, trying to untangle his thoughts. As he finally begins to drift off, the small bubble of hope grows inside him despite his efforts to suppress it, and it feels warm like the morning sun starting to peek through the windows.


	2. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Mitch explore the different methods of distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue writing this because I kind of liked the mournful/hopeful note it ended on but I kept having more ideas and they were burning a whole in my brain so I had to get them out. All the nice comments were very encouraging so thanks everyone! Now I’m really excited about the next couple chapters of this which I hope to post within the next week or so but I can’t make any promises. This is my first multi-chapter story and now I understand why regular updates can be so hard to do. I’ve also learned that by the time I get to the point of actually posting a fic I have absolutely no ability to judge whether it’s good or not so it always helps to hear people’s honest thoughts about it! 
> 
> Also, I want to stress that I tagged dub-con because there is implied sex with alcohol involved, but both parties are consenting and neither is drunk enough to be unable to give or withdraw their consent.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Mitch has a knack for self-sabotage. That much is clear when he wakes in late afternoon to the memory of a tender kiss and whispered confession and decides that the most logical solution is to ignore the situation entirely. He supposes that the confession has been simmering on the back burner for awhile, and was bound to slip out as soon as his defenses were lowered. The week without Scott combined with the heightened emotions and next-level exhaustion had lead him to admit his desire. Why had he told Scott? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the light of day exposes the flaw in that plan. Mitch isn’t ready. His heart tells him he is, but his anxiety overrides that thought, convincing him that he’s incapable of having a romantic relationship with Scott without losing him entirely. But he wants it, so badly. Mitch feels the familiar feeling of panic in his gut, clawing, gnawing, trying to escape. He needs a distraction, something to keep his hands busy. His eyes fall on the clothes tumbling out of his suitcase and jam-packed closet. Now there’s a project that could keep him busy for awhile. 

He’s nearly up to his neck in a massive pile of clothes on his bedroom floor when Scott pops his head in. “Save me, I’m drowning,” Mitch whines, reaching dramatically for Scott who laughs and gingerly steps his way through the mess to sit down with him. 

“Whatcha doin?” he asks casually, but Mitch hears the note of uncertainty in his voice. Clearly last night’s exchange is fresh in his mind too. 

“I have to get rid of some of these clothes before they take over my room and I have to move into yours.” 

“There’s always room for you in my bed, babe,” he answers without missing a beat. The remark falls well within the realm of their usual banter but Scott seems to realize as he speaks that the joke hits a little too close to home right now and his face flushes.

“Wanna help?” Mitch asks, adamantly pretending he’s fully unaware of the awkward situation. 

Scott nods quickly. “Sure, what do you need?” 

“Opinions.” 

“Awesome, I’m good at those.”

Mitch laughs, relieved that Scott seems content to let the matter rest. Ignoring the anxiety twisting in his stomach, he grabs an old leather jacket and holds it up. “Stay or go?” 

——

With Scott’s “help”, progress is even slower than if Mitch had been working alone, but admittedly much more entertaining. The process has turned into something of a fashion show with Scott demanding that Mitch model almost everything before he’ll make a decision. Mitch pulls another sweater from the pile and holds it up for Scott to look at. “I love that one it looks so cute on you!” he exclaims.

“Scott, you’ve said that about the last ten garments, you’re not helping at all here,” Mitch complains, feigning exasperation. “Just give me a straight answer.” 

“Let me see you in it.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes but yanks his t-shirt off for the umpteenth time to model the purple turtleneck. Scott’s eyes widen and he scooches closer to run his hands over the velour fabric. “This is too pretty on you, keep it.” 

Mitch sighs but pulls it over his head again and tosses it into the ‘stay’ pile, which is significantly larger than the ‘go’ pile. He doesn’t bother putting his t-shirt back on, figuring Scott will ask him to try on yet another article of clothing soon anyway. “Okay what about this one?” he asks, pointing to a tattered white tee but Scott’s eyes don’t follow, they’re glazed over, trained on Mitch’s bare torso. Giggling, he snaps his fingers. “Focus Scotty.” 

“Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly and turns his attention to the shirt. “Oh definitely keep!”

“Scott, the point of this is to actually get rid of some clothes,” he scolds and moves the t-shirt to the ‘go’ pile. “She’s going, say bye!” 

“Noooo I love that one,” Scott protests, “at least wear it to Todrick’s party tonight! She deserves one last night out.” 

“Oh I totally forgot about that!” Mitch says, the party having slipped his preoccupied mind. 

“Do you still want to go? I’ll stay home with you if you’re tired.” 

Mitch considers the offer briefly but shakes his head. Any other day, he’d jump at the chance to spend a quiet evening in with Scott, but tonight he needs an outlet. Maybe a night of partying will help dispel the underlaying hint of caution that has pervaded all their interactions today. 

“Mmm, I am pretty tired but yeah, I still want to go. I miss Toddy.” 

——

Later that night, Mitch pulls the white tee over his head and spends a few minutes in front of his mirror fixing his hair and making sure the light, airy fabric hangs right over his black skinny jeans. He shrugs his shoulder so the collar slips down and to the side to expose the tattoo labeling his prominent clavicle. Grabbing his small overnight bag, he walks down the hall, making a quick detour up to Scott’s room to stuff a pair of his jeans, a hoodie, and his toothbrush into the bag along with his own essentials. He then joins Scott in the kitchen, tossing the bag onto the counter and doing a graceful twirl. 

“Yay, you’re wearing it! What’s the bag for?” Scott asks. 

“Remember the last party at Toddy’s? There’s no way we’re making it home tonight sis and I refuse to leave in the same clothes I came in.” 

“Good point,” Scott says, then frowns, “maybe I should pack one real quick.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “No need, sunshine,” tone sarcastic but fond, “I got you covered.”

“Oh. Thanks,” he answers, giving Mitch a smile bright enough to live up to the silly nickname and they start in on their typical pre-game ritual, taking a couple shots and dancing to Scott’s sugary pop playlist until the Uber arrives. 

——

The party’s already in full swing by the time they get to Todrick’s and the house is crowded. Weaving through the people, Mitch heads straight upstairs to Todrick’s bedroom to drop his bag inside where it won’t be bothered, knowing Todrick won’t mind. He checks his hair quickly in the giant mirror before descending again into the loud, lively atmosphere. Scott’s nowhere to be seen, but Todrick greets him with a kiss on the cheek and shouts something about a music video shoot. Mitch doesn’t quiet hear what he says but nods enthusiastically, always game for a collaboration with his creative friend. 

Mitch wanders here and there, mingling with acquaintances and accepting drinks when they’re offered. Scott’s usually always close by if not hanging onto Mitch when they’re out partying so his absence tonight is conspicuous. Scott, the social butterfly that he is, normally takes the lead on the social interaction, allowing Mitch to relax. Without his presence, Mitch’s anxiety spikes and the seemingly endless small-talk tires him quickly. Escaping to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room, he takes refuge in the music, letting the thud of the bass take over and guide the beat of his aching, distressed heart.

After a few minutes of dancing, Mitch finally locates Scott across the room, leaning against the counter talking with a couple friends. He throws a casual glance Mitch’s way every so often, but otherwise ignores him. Well, two can play at that game, Mitch thinks and turns his back to Scott, moving his hips and raising his arms above his head so his t-shirt will lift up enough to give Scott the full effect of his ass in these jeans. Spinning back around, he notices that he has Scott’s full attention now and basks in the glow of his gaze, looking straight back into Scott’s eyes as he dances. It’s an unconscious form of subtle power-play they engage in often, a sort of competition to see who can command whose gaze, and who can resist. Mitch is winning, but the trill of victory is rapidly overtaken by a flash of intense desire that catches him off guard. Suddenly, having Scott’s eyes on him isn’t nearly enough, he wants more. He wants his hands on him too, his lips, Scott’s whole body pressed up against his.

Mitch has always been attracted to Scott, that’s nothing new, but he’s never felt a need like this before. It overwhelms him. This is what Mitch gets for trying to ignore his feelings, they all come bubbling to the surface in his intoxicated state. Why had he thought ignoring the situation would be a good idea? In hindsight, he and Scott should have talked about what he’d said last night, preferably before going out and getting drunk together. Emboldened by the alcohol, Mitch’s addled brain urges him to go to Scott’s side but a faint trace of the anxiety curls in his stomach at the thought of what words might spill out of his mouth once in his presence. He still has enough sense to know that broaching the subject of their romantic feelings at a house party while they’re both considerably tipsy is not a viable option. The music isn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts, he needs another distraction, anything to keep him from stumbling over to Scott and baring his soul. 

Breaking himself free of Scott’s stare, Mitch scans the crowded room. He spots the perfect candidate watching him dance from a few feet away. He’s tall and lanky with stringy, dirty blond hair and well-rounded muscles. Objectively, he’s very attractive, but looks as though he’s far too aware of that fact. It costs Mitch no more than a few glances and suggestive smiles to get the man to approach him. Up close, Mitch notices that his eyes are blue, because the universe is cruel. In other words, he’s an off-brand Scott. Mitch solves this problem by turning around so he can grind against the man without having to look at him. 

Mitch isn’t sure how much time passes before he finds they’ve drifted to the edge of the room and his dance partner crowds him up against the wall. Mitch’s head lolls to the side, exposing his neck and the man seizes the opportunity, sucking much too hard. Searching the crowd, Mitch finds Scott’s eyes again. For once, his face is completely blank, devoid of any emotion and he just looks back, watching as another man claims Mitch. The passivity of Scott’s face is disconcerting, until Mitch sees his hand curl into a fist. Mitch lets his mouth fall open and begs through half-lidded eyes. Come get me Scott, he thinks, come take what’s yours. Mitch isn’t sure what he’s doing and he has a vague feeling it isn’t a good idea but that quiet voice of reason in his head doesn’t stop him from staring Scott down while tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Maybe he imagines it, but Mitch thinks he sees Scott take a hesitant step in his direction when his attention is diverted by Todrick pulling at his arm and holding a shot out to him. Scott turns away from Mitch toward the group of others holding shot glasses. He accepts the shot and tosses it back before the countdown, then fades into the throng of people and out of Mitch’s line of sight. 

The sting of rejection that Mitch feels is wildly irrational, he knows that, but it hurts nonetheless. Without Scott’s gaze holding him steady, Mitch’s knees wobble and grabs hold of the solid mass of muscle in front of him. Faux-Scott appears to interpret his grasp as a sudden expression of passion and refocuses his messy kiss onto Mitch’s mouth. Mitch kisses his distraction back and eventually leads him down the hall to one of the many guest rooms.

——

Somewhere deep in his subconscious, Mitch registers a weight pinning him down and the feeling of being trapped permeates his heavy sleep. He struggles, but something’s restricting his movement. Panic sets in and Mitch battles against the persistent unconsciousness, fighting to wake himself up from this uncomfortable dream. The panic only persists when he opens his eyes to an unfamiliar room, in bed with an unfamiliar man whose arm is slung across his body. Reality returns to him quickly in the form of cloudy memories and a powerful headache. Disgusted, Mitch squirms out from underneath the arm and clambers to the edge of the bed, sitting there for a moment trying to calm the wild beat of his heart. Once he’s regained a fraction of composure, he notices the raw, vulnerable insecurity and restlessness; the telltale signs of an impending anxiety attack lurking underneath the symptoms of his hangover. It’s brewing on the horizon now, not quite here yet, but Mitch needs to get to his safe place before the storm hits. Standing up on unsteady legs, he finds his jeans in a tangled mess on the floor and pulls them on. His shirt however, is nowhere in sight. While scanning the bedroom for it, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and does a double-take. Purple marks litter his neck and chest. What a gentleman, he thinks sourly, and throws a glare over his shoulder at the still-sleeping man. Another quick look around the room and Mitch gives up on finding it, he needs Scott more than he needs the shirt right now.

Mitch stumbles down the hall and finds Todrick in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast for a few other party stragglers but Scott isn’t among them. He’ll never understand how Todrick can party all night and still wake up cheerful and energetic the next morning. A few in the group look him up and down, scrutinizing his haggard appearance. As a self-proclaimed exhibitionist, Mitch typically wouldn’t mind being half-naked in front of a group of strangers, but now he feels uncomfortably exposed. Squaring his shoulders, he tries his best project a confidence he certainly doesn’t feel right now and turns his back on the curious onlookers. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, he fills it at the sink and downs the entire thing, too dehydrated to care about the metallic taste. 

“Looks like you had a nice night with…was that Brandon I saw you with?” Todrick asks, eyeing all the marks on Mitch's torso. Figures, the guy even has a douchey name, Mitch thinks and tiredly raises a middle finger. Todrick laughs, "Want some coffee?” he asks, holding a mug out to him. “You look like hell." 

Mitch shakes his head. “No I'm going to go back to bed, where's Scott?" Todrick raises his eyebrows at his clipped tone but thankfully doesn't argue. 

“Passed out in my room,” he answers. Mitch nods, slips out of the kitchen, and climbs the stairs up to Todrick's wonderland of a bedroom.

The tightness in his chest relaxes as soon as he sees Scott sprawled on the bed fast asleep in nothing but his underwear, his blond hair pleasantly disheveled. Mitch marvels at the fact that even asleep, Scott has the ability to stop Mitch’s panic attack in its tracks. He peels off his tight jeans and crawls across the vast king-size bed to where Scott lies on his side with his back to Mitch. Mitch kneels by his head and stares down at his beautiful friend for a long moment. He lightly brushes a few stands of hair back from his forehead and rests his knuckles against Scott’s cheek, stained pink with the warmth of deep sleep. Ordinarily, Scott is such a light sleeper he’d never be able to get away with touching him like this without waking him, but he always sleeps like the dead after a night of drinking.

Most people soften in sleep, when they enter that state of peaceful rest. Their faces relax and they become a dreaming child, vulnerable and innocent. It’s a phenomenon Mitch has always been endlessly fascinated by, but he’d stopped looking for this transformation in Scott long ago. He looks the same in sleep as he does awake because he’s always beautifully unguarded and emotionally open. His face hasn’t hardened with age, he’s never assumed that carefully constructed mask of adulthood. Mitch can’t fully understand how Scott has maintained the unrelenting energy and optimism of childhood but he hopes fervently that he’ll never witness that quality that fade.

The little upward curve of Scott’s mouth fills Mitch with a fondness that tempts him to wedge himself into Scott’s arms to cuddle, but he knows he’d never manage that without waking him. Instead, he simply curls up on his side facing the opposite direction and wriggles until their backs press up against each other. Scott’s warmth melts into Mitch and the steady rhythm of his breath lulls him to sleep.


	3. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's killer hangover is the least of his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates over a month later* Ugh I'm really sorry about the wait, I've been writing essays for school right and left which have taken up all my time and energy. And I said Shawn wouldn’t be in this but oops here he is haha ouch hello heartbreak :)

The image of Mitch sprawled next to him, nearly naked and covered in love-bites isn’t entirely foreign to Scott, he’s dreamt about it on more than one occasion, so he doesn’t immediately question it when that’s what he opens his eyes to. He sighs happily, content to enjoy this pleasant dream and gazes at Mitch sleepily, admiring the smooth muscles of his back and the way they ripple ever so slightly with each soft breath. After a moment however, Scott registers a painful ache in his head. Weird, he thinks vaguely, dreams don't usually hurt like this. His sleep muddled brain struggles with this curiosity briefly before reality hits him and the blissful contentment evaporates instantly. He isn’t dreaming. His heart begins to pound rapidly which only worsens the throbbing in his head. Rolling out of the bed, he manages to stumble to the toilet just as the nausea overtakes him. His body tries to expel the toxins, but fails to rid him of the poisonous panic that pulses through him. Resting his head against the cool marble of the sink next to the toilet, he tries desperately to remember the events of last night.

After wading through a lot of hazy nothingness, Scott reaches his last solid memory of the night. The image of Mitch that appears in his mind is surprisingly clear, considering the fuzzy quality of every other memory of last night. He’s dancing, eyes closed and his hands above his head, his shirt lifted just slightly to expose his stomach. Try as he might, Scott can’t recall any other concrete memories beyond that, only the flash of intense desire that had coursed through him. Was it possible that he had surrendered to that desire? 

Scott immediately knows the answer. Yes. It’s definitely possible, especially considering what Mitch had told him the other night. Since then, Scott had dwelled on little else besides the possibility that Mitch might really be ready for a romantic relationship. He wishes now he’d had the courage to confront Mitch about it, to clarify his feelings, but instead, he’d unwisely let the idea consume him like an addictive drug. Scott had to recognize the distinct possibility that the combination of that drug with alcohol might very well have created a toxic mix that led him to drunkenly stumble across the carefully constructed physical boundaries that he and Mitch had spent so many years meticulously maintaining. Sure, Scott always pushes those boundaries when he’s drunk, Mitch does too, but they typically take precautions to ensure their desire doesn’t get the best of them. Their other friends, usually Nicole, Esther, or Kirstie, can be counted on to pull them apart when their hands start to wander, even when Scott loudly accuses them of ‘cock-blocking’. Mitch also never lets either of them get sloppy enough to totally lose their better judgement, but if the hangover Scott has now is anything to go by, he certainly wouldn’t have had much executive function last night. The evidence is stacked against him. The heightened longing Scott had been dealing with, the absence of their responsible, motherly friends, and an excessive amount of alcohol all pointed to the conclusion Scott had hoped he wouldn’t come to. 

The thought that he might have had sex with Mitch while inebriated makes Scott's stomach twist and he leans over the toilet, heaving again. Once the worst of the nausea passes, he flushes the toilet and adjusts his position on the floor to lean against the wall and catch his breath. Several minutes pass and he’s still agonizing over what to do next when he hears movement in the bedroom. Please no, Scott prays, but evidently no higher power decides to answer his plea because the sound of a groan announces that Mitch is awake and seconds later he appears in the doorway, looking like death warmed up in a microwave but somehow beautiful as ever. One look at Scott and Mitch crosses the room to kneel on the floor in front of him. He reaches out to touch his shoulder but Scott flinches back and only then does Mitch seem to pick up on his panicked state. “Scott?” he questions, tipping his head to the side, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Scott inhales deeply, then the words spill out in a rapid, jumbled string. “Mitch I’m sorry, I’m so, _so_ sorry I didn’t mean to, I was way too drunk this is all my fault,” he says and buries his face in his hands. 

“Woah, Scott slow down, what are you talking about?” Mitch asks, apparently totally oblivious to the current crisis. 

“Do you not remember anything either?” 

“Remember what, honey?” Mitch presses patiently, his voice far too kind and calm considering what might have happened last night. Scott braces himself and tries his best to put together a coherent sentence despite the spinning in his head. 

“Did I- did we sleep together?” 

Mitch frowns, clearly confused. “Well yeah, I came in a couple hours ago to sleep with y-” He cuts off mid-sentence, his eyes widen with sudden realization, and his jaw drops. “Oh no, Scott no, it’s okay, we’re okay we didn’t _sleep_ together!” he explains emphatically, borderline frantic in his rush to put Scott at ease. “No, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t realize….I um, slept with someone else last night. I woke up early and Todrick told me you were in here. I didn’t even think about how you would react waking up with me like that, I’m so sorry.” Relief floods Scott’s body as he processes Mitch’s words and he slumps forward into his waiting arms. 

“I thought I really messed up,” he whispers brokenly into Mitch’s neck. 

“Oh Scott,” Mitch murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly, “we’re okay.” They sit together on the bathroom floor until Scott regains some semblance of control over his body and emotions, then Mitch carefully pulls back from Scott’s grip.

“Hang on a sec, honey,” he says, dropping a swift kiss on Scott’s cheek and disappearing into the bedroom. He returns a few seconds later with Scott’s toothbrush and two Tylonal. 

“You’re a genius,” Scott croaks, gratefully accepting the valuable gifts. He feels marginally better after downing the medicine with a glass of water and thoroughly brushing his teeth. Mitch sits on the edge of the bathtub and calls for an Uber to take them home, then leads Scott back to the bed, crawls into the center of it and sits cross-legged. He looks up at Scott and pats his legs. Scott smiles and crawls onto the bed too, and they assume their favorite cuddle position with Scott’s head resting in Mitch’s lap. Mitch starts to trail his fingers through his hair, and Scott closes his eyes, soaking in the feeling of Mitch’s rare undivided attention. 

Mitch is so often a force to be reckoned with, strong and confident and so full of sass that he even intimidates Scott at times. He’s a beautiful, kinetic creature that flits quickly here and there, elusive, impossible to contain. His little hummingbird. But once in awhile, usually when he’s worried about Scott, Mitch slows down, turns soft and sweet, and showers Scott with gentle affection, whispering loving reassurances as he does now. 

“By the way Scotty,” Mitch says softly, rousing Scott from his bliss, “if we had accidentally slept together, it would be my fault too, not just yours.” Scott opens his eyes to look up at Mitch and shrugs. 

“I’m always the touchy one,” he counters. 

“I’m always the flirty one,” Mitch retorts and they grin at each other in mutual recognition of how ludicrous this is, casually discussing their sexual chemistry. The moment is almost perfect, except for the nagging thought in the back of Scott’s mind demanding to be addressed. He sobers and chews on his bottom lip for a moment before speaking. 

“So you slept with someone,” he says, stating the obvious. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds flat, emotionless. He’s surprised to realize that for once he feels no jealousy, but the feeling of defeat that fills the void hurts much more. He’d known better than to let Mitch get his hopes up the other night, but he couldn’t help it, and now he’s paying the price. The crash after the high. 

“Yeah,” Mitch sighs, offering no further detail. 

“Any good?” Scott hedges, hating himself for needing to ask. 

“Strictly average. He sure wasn’t shy about marking me up.” Scott can hear the annoyance in Mitch’s tone, but he isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or the man he slept with. 

“Mitch?” he asks tentatively, not wanting to push Mitch but needing to get something off his chest. Mitch shifts uncomfortably, probably expecting him to inquire further into his one-night stand. 

“What?” he asks warily. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” he apologizes sincerely. Mitch’s brow furrows, then he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that. You aren’t a mess Scotty.”

“I am though,” Scott insists, “You’re always having to hold me together. It isn’t fair to you.”

“Scott stop,” Mitch commands, the hand in Scott’s hair tightening into a fist. At that moment, Scott’s ringtone interrupts them but Mitch doesn’t even flinch, a faraway look in his eyes. Scott reaches up to tap Mitch’s hand to get him to loosen up, then sits up and looks around, disoriented, unsure where he left his phone last night. It appears to be coming from the jeans that are in a pile on the floor and he climbs off the bed to dig it out of the pocket. It’s Shawn. Scott stares down at the loudly ringing phone, frozen. The fact that hadn’t thought of Shawn once throughout this whole ordeal triggers an avalanche of guilt. Over the course of the past couple months he’d been dating Shawn, they hadn’t yet agreed to be exclusive, so, while drunkenly fucking Mitch wouldn’t necessarily be outright cheating, it would still undoubtedly be a betrayal. The thing is, Scott had been far too concerned with his possible betrayal of Mitch’s trust, Mitch’s body, Mitch’s freedom to even consider Shawn. 

The phone stops ringing but he continues to stare down at it. His face must betray his inner turmoil because Mitch says, “Hey, everything okay?” 

No, not at all. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just Shawn, I’ll call him back later. Hey, you brought extra clothes for me in that magic bag of yours right?” he asks quickly, faking a cheerful tone. Mitch obviously doesn’t buy his act but nods and reaches over to grab his overnight bag, tossing Scott a pair of jeans and a baggy hoodie and Scott escapes to the bathroom to change. After pulling on the clean clothes, he leans over the bathroom sink to collect his thoughts. He really needs to figure things out with Mitch and Shawn.

As much as Scott hates to admit it, his relationship with Shawn is a placeholder, something to pass the time while he waits for the real thing. He’d made sure Shawn was well aware of that fact as soon as they became involved, making it clear that he wasn’t in the market for a life partner, but at the time Scott thought he had several years of waiting left. If Mitch really meant what he’d said the other night, he’d need to be honest with Shawn and let him know things have changed. 

The irony of the situation might be funny if it weren’t so painful. He feels like an awkward high schooler all over again, caught between the love of his life and and a wonderful, beautiful friend. Back then, the innocent victim of his confusion was Kirstie. Scott had broken down in tears on her couch one night and confessed to her, his girlfriend, his feelings for Mitch. He loved Kirstie fiercely too and told he so, and she, wise beyond her years had asked him three simple questions: “Who do you want to spent the most time with? Who do you think about the most? Who do you miss the most?” Until that day, Scott had never known how much it could hurt to tell the truth, but Mitch’s name had fallen from his trembling lips and the flicker of hurt on Kirstie’s face has stuck with him. Even now, when their young love is nothing more than a silly high school memory, the pain he’d caused Kirstie still haunts him. The prospect of doing that again, hurting someone he loves just because they aren’t the right someone, fills him with dread. Deeper then that, a quiet resentment toward Mitch brews within him. He clenches his fists, frustrated by his helplessness, his complete inability to resist Mitch’s seemingly random expressions of love that pull him this way and that like a buoy tossed about on a stormy sea.

Mitch’s voice breaks through his clouded mind. “Ready, Scott? Uber’s here.” 

— —

They head downstairs, pausing briefly to say goodbye to Todrick. 

“Thanks for taking care of my drunk ass last night,” Scott says, giving him a quick hug. Scott detects a look of sympathy in Todrick’s eyes when they separate and groans internally at the emotional mess he must have been. He’ll have to call him later. Mitch startles him out of his thoughts by suddenly grabbing his hand. Scott looks at him questioningly and follows his line of sight to a man sitting at the breakfast bar. The man’s face recalls a blurry memory of Mitch pressed up against a wall. Oh, it’s Mitch’s hookup. He’s glancing between the two of them and down at their joined hands, looking confused but Mitch just turns away and pulls Scott with him to the door, waving vaguely in Todrick’s direction over his shoulder. 

Scott figures Mitch had simply wanted to discourage the man from approaching so they could escape unbothered but Mitch doesn’t release his hand even once they’re outside, making it difficult to climb into the backseat of the car. Scott buckles himself awkwardly with one hand and gives the driver their address as Mitch seems too lost in his head to speak. A couple of minutes into the drive, Scott notices Mitch’s hand becoming cold and clammy and every last trace of the resentment he’d felt just minutes earlier melts away. Wordlessly, he unbuckles and slides into the middle seat so he can be right next to Mitch. He nudges his shoulder against Mitch’s, then uses his other hand to trace letters onto Mitch’s forearm with the tip of his index finger. 

O-K-A-Y-? he writes on his skin. Mitch shrugs, his expression disconcertingly blank. Scott tries again to pull Mitch out of the spiral he appears to be falling into, tracing an I, pausing then an L-O-V-E, another pause, Y-O-U, and accenting the message with a little heart. It works, eliciting a small smile from Mitch, so Scott keeps it up. 

Y-O-U, pause, A-R-E, pause, B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L. 

The eye-roll and shoulder bump he receives for that lets Scott know his strategy is working. He continues writing short messages into Mitch’s skin for the for the remainder of the slow drive across LA, giving him something to concentrate on other than whatever is troubling his mind.

— —

By the time they get home Mitch seems slightly calmer, but Scott still senses his fragility. After they step inside Mitch finally pulls his hand from Scott’s. 

“I’m going to shower,” Mitch says, “I feel kind of….dirty.” 

“Okay, I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Scott answers, wary of leaving Mitch alone right now but trying not to hover. He walks to his room, then sinks onto his bed and pulls out his phone to call Shawn. 

“Hey there,” Shawn answers on the third ring, his cheerful voice making Scott’s heart ache. 

“Hey, sorry I missed your call earlier, I’m crazy hungover.” 

Shawn chuckles. “Thought you might be, I saw your snap story.”  


“Oh god, I haven’t even looked at that yet, was it awful?” he asks, terrified of what embarrassing content sloppy Scott might have posted. 

“Just the usual, drinking and dancing, why? Do you not remember?” 

“Um no, just pieces I guess. I drank way too much,” he admits.

“Are you feeling okay? I could make you some hangover food or we could get dinner somewhere tonight?” Scott’s heart sinks at the invitation, the kindness he doesn’t deserve. 

“That sounds amazing but….I think I need to stay with Mitch today,” he explains. 

“Oh okay, that’s fine,” Shawn responds quickly, easy-going as ever. “Is he alright?” he adds, sounding concerned. 

“I don’t know actually. Things have been a little weird since he got back. He seems….vulnerable. I need to figure some things out with him right now but maybe we could meet up tomorrow morning?” 

“Sure, just text me. Take good care of Mitchy.” 

“Okay, I will, I lo— I’ll see you later.” 

“Alright, bye Scott.”


	4. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch reaches his breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I really hope there are at least a few people still interested in reading this. I’m so sorry about the slow updates, between working 70 hours a week for awhile and living in an area with very limited internet access, I’ve had little opportunity to write/update. Hope you enjoy!!

Mitch appreciates the support from Scott, but he’s thankful that he doesn’t hover and lets him go shower without asking questions. He just needs a minute alone to breathe, then he’ll be fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine he chants inwardly with every step he takes toward his bathroom. His movements are mechanical as he steps into the shower and turns on the water. Too distracted to remember to let the water warm up first, he jumps in shock when the water comes out ice cold.

Fifteen minutes in, the warm water has done nothing to calm him and the solitude serves only to increase his discomfort, all his usual calming techniques failing miserably. The insecurity burns on his skin like a chemical he can’t wash off.

Ever since he’d returned from Paris, that night on the porch, he’s felt shaky and unbalanced, like the separation from Scott had thrown him off-kilter with the weight of a new perspective. Mitch prides himself on his relative self-sufficiency. He doesn’t make a habit of needing people, it’s far to burdensome and risky, so he finds comfort in his solitude. Alone but not lonely. 

Scott’s different. He craves stability and order, doesn’t do anything halfway. He loves with his whole heart, his whole being, with a kind of beautiful but reckless abandon that Mitch hasn’t yet been able to manage. Scott’s a relationship guy, a serial monogamist, husband material. And Mitch just…. _isn’t_. It’s not that Mitch fears commitment, it isn’t that simple. Rather, he just hadn’t felt the need for that kind of consistency until now. Scott is the only one he’d ever trust enough to do this with. But it still scares the shit out of him.

Usually he can tell Scott anything, in fact, total honesty is sort of their way of keeping their sometimes precarious relationship intact. Mitch hates the feeling of being unable to confide in the person he most needs to talk to. His inner thoughts and feelings were already confusing enough, but the reminder that Shawn is a part of this too further complicates the issue, making his head spin. The relationship between Scott and Shawn seems hang in the balance, dependent on whatever Mitch decides to do next. The weight of that responsibility, the obligations he has to Scott, Shawn, and himself form a tangled web he can’t escape from without cutting some ties.

Shawn has fit so perfectly into their circle, first as a coworker, then as a friend, and later as something more for Scott. Mitch had been the first to spot the attraction between the two, and the first to encourage Scott to ask Shawn out. It’s darkly ironic, Mitch realizes, how perfectly the scenario aligns with his habit of building things up only to tear them down. 

He’s done it before, with Scott when they were just teenagers. Their young love had started off so innocent, new, and exciting. Although they’d both been equally interested in each other, Mitch had acted as the catalyst, making the first move when Scott was too shy, instigating the clandestine after-school hookups, accepting Scott’s request to be his boyfriend. But just a few short weeks later, Mitch balked. His feelings for Scott were so starkly different from the shallow crushes he’d experienced prior to falling for Scott that were based primarily on looks. All at once, everything he was too young to even know he wanted was handed to him by his sweet, gentle, and a little-too-willing best friend. It was too much. Mitch remembers thinking of the future, of how Scott would go off to college and accomplish great things while he, the insecure nobody, would remain in Arlington forever. Stuck and heartbroken. So as a defense mechanism, Mitch broke up with Scott leaving him heartbroken instead. During their year of silence that ensued, Mitch kept himself occupied with a few other boys who all inevitably disappointed him. Luckily, Scott Hoying and his unending forgiveness called him up out of the blue one day, asking him to audition for a show called the Sing-Off with him. 

One thing led to another, and a heat of the moment kiss in his and Scott’s shared Sing-Off room brought all Mitch’s feeling right back to the surface. Struck again by the knowledge of just how dangerous it is to want someone so much, Mitch pulled back, effectively ending what he’d started. 

They had a show to win, they couldn’t lose focus. This was it. If they didn’t win the Sing-Off Mitch would return home again, as lost and directionless as before. Scrambling for an escape route that wouldn’t hurt Scott again, he’d blurted a lame excuse about it feeling like they’d become siblings. But Scott saw straight through him. 

“I know you feel this too,” he’d said with an uncharacteristically incisive look in his blue eyes, “you can’t lie to me.” 

Those words, that may have sounded like a threat in any other context, were an invitation encouraging Mitch to drop the act. So he did, admitting to Scott the terrifying intensity of his feelings. Over the course of several hours, during which Mitch talked more than he ever had in one sitting, the last vestiges of awkwardness from their breakup melted away. Like a scar from a bad cut, their wounded relationship healed stronger than before, giving Mitch a place where he didn’t have to hide. When it was all said and done with every thought, reservation, and desire out in the open, they agreed to wait and let their friendship grow before venturing further down the path toward more exclusive partnership.

Now here he stands, no longer a lost and vulnerable teenage but just as petrified. 

Only when the water starts to run cold does Mitch realize how long he’s been standing there, clambers out of the shower, and dries himself off. He stands frozen in front of the mirror, watching all the color drain from his skin. The dark red and purple marks littering his chest, neck, and shoulders stand out against his ghostly pallor. Scott’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door startles him. 

“Mitch, are you okay? Can I come in?”

Unable to move, Mitch lets out a weak, “Uh-huh.”

Scott opens the door and steps into the bathroom. His eyes widen when he sees Mitch with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. 

“Oh- sorry,” he stammers, face reddening, “do you want a second to get dressed?” 

Mitch shakes his head but the motion causes him to sway slightly, a physical manifestation of his internal instability.

“Woah Mitch,” Scott cautions and strong arms wind around him, holding him upright. Mitch allows himself to lean back against his chest. 

The image in the mirror, of Scott’s body curled protectively around his doesn’t make him any steadier on his feet, but his attention is drawn again to the ugly bruises on his body. They feel dirty, and fill Mitch with a sudden, irrational frustration. He reaches up to scrub roughly at a particularly large one on his neck with his knuckles, as if to wipe it off. “Ow,” he whimpers when the action sparks pain under his skin. 

“I want them off me,” he whines, unable to help his childish tone. Scott gently but firmly pulls Mitch’s hand away from his neck and pins it down at his side. He seems to sense that Mitch is on the edge of a breakdown and tightens his arms around him, as if that will keep Mitch from falling apart. 

“Shhhh,” he whispers in his ear, “it’s okay, they’ll be gone in a couple of days.” 

They make eye contact in the mirror. Scott gives him a hesitant, almost shy look, then leans down and brushes his lips against the mark. He glances up, gauging Mitch’s reaction before dipping his head again and dropping a feather light kiss on another mark. Working his way down his neck and across his shoulders, Scott’s lips erase the claim each mark carries. It seems a little odd maybe, that he’s kissing the marks made by another man only mere hours ago, but it’s strangely calming, like he’s wiping away the irritating reminders of the previous night.

The action feels incredibly intimate, especially when Scott carefully turns him around to kiss the marks on his chest. Somehow it feels entirely innocent too, similar to the time Mitch smacked his forehead on the monkey bars in elementary school and Scott had peppered his face with kisses until he was laughing through the tears. Only when Scott glances up at him again does Mitch realize his mouth has dropped open. He closes it quickly, but just a fraction of a second too late. 

“Sorry,” Scott says hurriedly, “was that weird or…too much? Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking I-”

“No, no Scott,” he insists. “That was—really sweet actually. I dunno, I guess I though you’d be like….grossed out…or something. Because of how they got there.” 

Scott frowns. “I’ll never be grossed out by your body, Mitch,” he says, looking hurt at just the thought of it. “They’re just bruises, I don’t care how they got there. Well, unless someone hurt you,” he amends, looking even more troubled, “then I’d care.” Mitch reaches up to smooth the frown from his face. 

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?” 

“You never have to be ashamed about anything with me. Ever. You know that, right?” He speaks with a conviction Mitch doesn’t deserve, will never deserve, but wants to.

Mitch wants so badly for those words to be true. But what if they aren’t? He’s never wanted someone so much, never let himself become so fully invested in another human, it feels like the words are backing up like an enormous wall of water behind the dam he’s put up. Mitch can’t hold it up for much longer, the force making his legs tremble with fatigue. That and the fear of what will happen, how Scott will feel when it all spills over. All the repressed emotion and anxiety hits him all at once and his knees give out, but Scott is right there to catch him. 

He lets Scott help him to his bed, but then pushes his hands away. Scott takes the physical cue in stride and doesn’t look hurt or offended, he simply moves back to let Mitch have his space. He doesn’t barrage Mitch with questions or stare at him or rush to try and make the pain disappear or order him to “breathe!” as if Mitch doesn’t know how. He’s been here before. They’ve done this before. 

Sitting quietly at the end of the bed, Scott waits by his side in silent solidarity, trusting Mitch enough to let him have his pain, trusting him to be strong enough to bear it. Mitch certainly doesn’t feel strong but Scott’s composure demonstrates his confidence in him, and that makes all the difference. 

Mitch curls in on himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. He focuses in on the details of what’s happening to his body and dissects the purpose of each uncomfortable aspect of the panic. He’s shaking. It’s scary and feels like he could fall apart at any second but it’s a good thing, it means his muscles are releasing all the built up tension. Tears pour down his face. They certainly don’t feel like healthy, cathartic tears, rather he thinks he might drown in them, but he knows they’re better out than in. His lungs are doing exactly what they’re supposed to, trying their best to pull in oxygen, albeit a little to fast and shallow. Mitch squeezes his eyes shut and pictures in his mind the color of his breath, blue when he inhales and purple when he exhales. He breathes in for five seconds and out for eight, over and over until the stuttering gasps have slowed and lengthened to full breaths. 

Mitch opens his eyes to Wyatt peering up at him from the side of the bed, clearly wondering what all the noise is about. Scott leans over the side of the bed to scoop him up, then tentatively holds him out to Mitch. It takes him a second to remember how to move his extremities that are so tightly wrapped around himself, but he manages to open his arms to allow Scott to tuck the cat into them.

Wyatt appears to put his dignity aside, sensing with his animal instincts that his human needs comfort and patiently allows himself to be cried on and damn near throttled by the tight embrace of his distraught owner. When the tears slow enough, the little guy rubs his face against Mitch’s tear-streaked chin and Mitch lets out watery laugh, giving him a kiss. 

"Thanks WyWy,” he whispers. Wyatt answers with a little mew, then squirms out of Mitch’s arms and gives Scott a long gaze as if to say, "Your turn, you take it from here,” and leaps off the bed.

Scott seems to take the cat’s direction and stands to retrieve a big soft sweatshirt from Mitch’s closet and hands it to him. Only then does Mitch realize that his trembles have become shivers as he’s still practically naked with only a wet towel covering his lower half. While Mitch clumsily pulls the sweatshirt over his head, Scott grabs a pair of briefs from the dresser and looks away discreetly when Mitch stands to pull on the underwear. Still hiccuping, Mitch scrubs the residual tears from his face with the sleeves of the sweatshirt, then leans back against the headboard and tucks his knees up to his chest again. With the worst of the suffocating panic now gone, he feels ready for Scott’s physical consolation. 

“Can you hold me now?” 

Scott smiles tenderly and climbs up onto the bed, maneuvering Mitch so he can slide in behind him, between Mitch and the headboard. He’s now seated between Scott’s legs with his back resting against Scott’s chest. The feeling of being surrounded, fully contained, that just minutes ago would have only worsened the panic is now exactly what he needs. The situation is oddly reminiscent of what had transpired just a couple hours ago, only in reverse this time, with Scott holding him together now. Scott’s arms wrap around from behind to pull him more closely against him. Mitch lets his head drop back to rest on his shoulder and releases a shaky sigh. He stares up at the blades of the ceiling fan spinning slowly around and around, trapped in a perpetual cycle, chasing each other, never catching up. 

“You haven’t had one that bad in awhile,” Scott observes thoughtfully after a long period of silence perforated by the occasional hiccup from Mitch.

“Just had to prove you wrong, I guess,” Mitch says with a sad smile.

“Prove me wrong?”

“Look whose taking care of who now,” he explains, referencing their earlier conversation. 

“This is different Mitch,”Scott counters. 

Mitch can’t see his face, but hears the frown in his voice. Scott’s endlessly supportive through his struggles with anxiety and refuses to let him beat himself up over it. Mitch loves him for it, truly, but sometimes it feels like Scott is defending an ugly, grotesque monster inside him. Sometimes Scott’s sweet patience and kindness seem like the exact opposite of what Mitch needs to slay the demon. Then again, that’s the demon talking and Scott’s good at talking over that voice of doubt. He lets the dilemma slide for now, there’s something more pressing on his mind. He sits up a little, loosening Scott’s hold, allowing him to twist around so they can talk face to face.

“There’s a reason why it was worse than usual actually.”

“Yeah?” 

“I need to talk to you about something. And I’m scared.” Mitch feels like a kid, seeking reassurance.

Scott seems to pick up right away on how nervous Mitch is and goes into protect-Mitch mode. “You’re really vulnerable right now, are you sure you don’t want to talk later?”

“No, I need to talk now. I can’t repress it anymore, that will just make this worse.”

“Okay,” Scott murmurs, watching him intently. 

He fiddles with Scott’s fingers nervously, knowing that what he’s about to say will change everything. Their relationship has remained somewhat undefined for so many years that the prospect of finally taking this step that’s been such a long time coming is a little daunting to say the least. It’s Scott’s gentle eyes that give him the courage to finally speak. It comes out more bluntly than he wants. 

“I don’t think being friends is enough for me anymore. I want you. All of you.”

Scott’s ribcage expands beneath him on a quick little intake of breath. 

“You were serious?” he breathes. 

Mitch doesn’t need to clarify what Scott’s referring to, and holds Scott’s eyes with his own to communicate his sincerity as he nods slowly. “I’m sorry it slipped out like that the other night…and for how I dealt with it.”

“Why now, Mitch?” Scott asks. There’s no trace of malice in the question, only curiosity.

“Paris. Being so away from you for so long….it was so much harder than I expected. And you didn’t call me,” he remembers. “Why didn’t you fucking call?” he demands, only half-pretending to be outraged. 

“Oh um the time difference mainly,” Scott offers lamely causing Mitch to raise an eyebrow at the bullshit answer. “Well I was also just sort of upset with you.” Scott admits.

“Why?” Mitch presses. 

“For leaving me!”

“I told you to come with us!” 

“I didn’t think you really meant it, I’m clueless about all that fashion stuff. I figured I’d just slow you and Candice down.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

They grin stupidly at each other for a moment, savoring the brief, light-hearted reprieve. Mitch’s smile fades as he recalls what brought all that on. “I know it’s horrible timing, since you’re with Shawn now. But I can wait…if you want to be with Shawn.”

“It doesn’t work like that Mitch,” Scott sighs. “I can’t be with Shawn knowing you’re waiting for me. I thought— I wasn’t expecting this so soon, I thought it’d be at least a few more years before you were ready.” 

“So did I. I’m sorry. I know how much you care about Shawn. I care about him too,” Mitch finds himself on the verge of tears, thinking about his friend and how his actions will hurt him. The thoughtful frown on Scott’s face softens at that. 

“No, don’t apologize,” he pleads, his blue eye gazing so intensely into Mitch’s that his own eyes flick downward. “Mitch I’m so _happy_.” Scott whispers the last word like he can’t say it loud enough so it comes out the opposite. He’s stroking Mitch’s cheekbones with his thumbs, refusing to break his gaze. The light shining in his eyes dims after a moment though, and he looks away at last. 

“I need some time though, to figure things out with Shawn.” 

“You love him.” Mitch knows it’s true and doesn’t need Scott to confirm it. Mitch isn’t sure whose side he’s arguing for, his or Shawn’s, as he attempts to defend his friend’s relationship from an attack he himself is making.

“I love a lot about Shawn,” Scott agrees. “He is so sweet, talented, creative…And he’s a huge nerd like me,” he says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, but then the smile disappears, replaced by genuine sadness as he continues. “But I realized not too long ago that my favorite thing about him…is the way he accepts you. He doesn’t just tolerate you, he likes—no, _loves_ you, and never asks me to choose him over you. And that’s not a good reason to love someone. Shawn deserves someone that will choose him over anyone, and that’s not me. Don’t blame yourself Mitchy, Shawn and I both knew our relationship wasn’t built to last. It was just this light, happy, ephemeral thing—” his voice cuts off. Scott’s never been shy about crying in front of Mitch, but now he can see that he’s doing everything he can to hold back his emotion. Mitch wants to encourage him to let go, but thinks better of it. Those feelings are for Shawn and Scott can choose how, when, and with whom to process them. So he settles for a hug that Scott eagerly returns. 

— —

Scott barely lets go of him the rest of the day. Mitch can’t tell if it’s because of their heart-to-heart or he’s just catering to Mitch’s post-panic need for cuddles but he’s not complaining either way, it’s perfect. This isn’t the first time Scott has helped him through a bad anxiety day, but Mitch is still amazed by Scott’s ability to anticipate his wants and needs. He stays close to Mitch, helping him stay hydrated and bringing him food when he gets hungry. 

They’re binge watching YouTube videos in Scott’s room, sprawled out on his bed, when Mitch feels his eyelids drooping and his body sagging against Scott’s. Exhausted, he wants to sleep, but the thought of going to his own room to sleep alone in his bed scares him. Scott picks up almost immediately on Mitch’s attempts to fight his drowsiness.

“Ready for bed Queen?” 

Yes. He is so, so ready to lose himself to oblivion but shakes his head like a petulant child nonetheless. Scott’s proposed solution is is exactly what Mitch needs. 

“Wanna have a sleepover?” Scott asks with a sly grin.

“Sleepovers” are a ritual of theirs typically reserved for nights when they come home too tipsy and clingy to sleep in their separate beds. The affair consists of pushing the two living room couches together into a little bed, collapsing into it together, then arguing about who should get back up to turn the lights off and eventually falling asleep with them on. They have something of an unspoken rule against spending the night together in either of their rooms since they’re already codependent enough. For some reason, the living room is like a neutral space that doesn’t carry the intimidating significance of sleeping together in one of their own beds. Mitch utters a sleepy sound of assent.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed while I set it up?” Scott suggests. 

It takes a minute for the message to reach Mitch’s tired brain and then translate into coordinated, purposeful movements, but he finally manages to heave himself off the bed and into the bathroom. Too tired to go through his normally long and elaborate bedtime routine, Mitch simply splashes some warm water on his face and brushes his teeth lazily. He listens to the sounds of furniture being moved around upstairs. A loud thump and “ow!” has him nearly choking on a mouthful of frothy toothpaste as a snort of laughter escapes him. Scott must had stubbed his toe on the couch or something. Skipping floss and moisturizer is something he almost never does, but tonight his hasn’t the energy and wants only to be back in Scott’s presence. After stripping out of his sweats down to his underwear he makes his way slowly up the stairs to the living room. 

“You okay?” he asks, and Scott looks up from where he’s sitting on one of the couch’s arms, rubbing his knee. 

“The coffee table is a fucking bitch,” he answers, looking so adorably put-out that Mitch can’t help the way he gravitates toward him. 

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” he consoles him teasingly and brushes a hand down his shoulder. 

The makeshift bed has been hastily piled with pillows and the giant comforter from Mitch’s bed. With the arms and backs of the couches surrounding every side, the small surface area they have to lie on is enclosed, like a nest. Mitch loves it, being safely contained like that but knows Scott, who likes to starfish when he sleeps, will likely be cramped and uncomfortable. It’s strange, they’ve never done this sober before, usually it’s not so carefully planned out.

Like marionettes with their strings cut, they’re usually happy to drift off in whatever awkward, crumpled position they land in. But tonight, finding a comfortable sleeping position for both of them in the cramped space proves difficult. They end up with Scott almost completely diagonal so he can lie straight while Mitch curls up perpendicular to him, using his stomach for a pillow. 

“Night Mitchy,” Scott yawns. “Wake me up if you need to.” The offer gives Mitch a warm sense of security, even if he knows he won’t need to take advantage of it; he always sleeps hard after a anxiety ordeal. Having over-enthusiastic adrenal glands can be thoroughly taxing at times.

“Night.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

In the years leading up to this moment when their relationship would finally start to solidify from its amorphous state, Mitch always imagined that the first ‘I love you’ would sound different than the everyday phrase it had become for them, more significant perhaps. But it doesn’t really. It sounds and feels very much the same as it always has, something Mitch finds not anticlimactic but deeply comforting. They aren’t quite there yet, but Mitch identifies an intense kind of belonging, squished on their couch-bed next to Scott. His place. Their place.


	5. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott needs space...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a battle, good luck I guess?

He can’t do it. 

Scott’s sitting in his car, parked around the corner from Shawn’s house, seriously considering turning around and driving straight back home. He’d gotten up early, left a note for Mitch, and texted Shawn to ask if he could come over to talk. Shawn had replied back promptly with a cheerful promise to have breakfast waiting that made Scott’s stomach turn. Foolishly, he wishes Mitch could be by his side for this.

Scott hates goodbyes. He isn’t ready to say goodbye to Shawn yet. But he has to. Scott hasn’t even properly broken up with anyone before. This abrupt break will undeniably be painful, letting go before he’s ready, but Scott prefers an up front approach that won’t leave room for resentment to fester. 

What had started out as a fun and casual relationship had become more serious that Scott had intended. He’d sworn it wouldn’t happen like this again but he somehow couldn’t help it. At least he hasn’t made too many permanent attachments like moving in with him as he’d done with Alex.

Scott hates himself for even thinking it, but he knows Superfruit will lose a valuable asset when Shawn inevitably stops editing for them. It’s just a small scale example of the pitfalls of becoming romantically involved with a coworker, something that doesn’t bode well for his his future with Mitch, his reason for ending the relationship with Shawn. It only reminds him that horrible as he feels now, it could be so much worse if a similar falling out were to happen with Mitch. Emotional agony aside, a rift between he and Mitch would spell catastrophe for both of their careers, their complicated web of mutual friendships, their way of life. This is the danger in such inextricably tying oneself to another. But Scott knows the fear is unfounded. He and Mitch would never, could never fall apart like that. They’ve endured too much for that to happen. 

He considers how different things might be now, if he hadn’t decided to get involved with Shawn like this, if he hadn’t been so selfish. He wouldn’t have to say goodbye. They could be friends and coworkers and things wouldn’t end like this, with them having to cut all ties to save themselves from the pain and discomfort of love that wasn’t enough.

What a mess he’s made. 

The ping of a “where are you” text pushes him to pull the keys from the ignition and climb out of the car. 

Here goes nothing. 

— — 

“Why’d you knock weirdo? You know you can just let yourself in,” Shawn teases, giving him a quick hug. Scott forces a chuckle but his arms feel like they’re made of lead as he raises them to return the hug, wondering if this is the last hug he’ll ever give Shawn. 

Shawn’s cat Hugo incessantly winds around his legs, demanding attention and Scott leans down to scratch him behind the ears, knowing full well that he’s stalling as he tries to decide on a way to broach the subject. Unfortunately, Shawn is unwittingly a step ahead of him. 

“Is Mitchy doing okay?”

Straightening up, Scott leaves Hugo still begging for affection, and suppresses a sigh. Sooner, rather than later is better, he supposes. 

“Yeah, he had a bad day yesterday but he’s okay. That’s sort of what I need to talk to you about actually.” 

He takes Shawn’s hand an leads him to the couch to sit down. He keeps ahold of him, perhaps to ground himself. 

Shawn looks at him through trusting brown eyes that are just a shade too dark. He shows no indication that he knows where this is headed. How could he? This development has come completely out of left field, blindsiding even Scott. 

“Mitch told me he wants more than friendship with me.” 

Scott realizes with the admission that he still knows relatively little about Mitch’s change of heart, why their recent separation had taken such a toll on him emotionally. Throughout their decade long friendship, Mitch has remained relatively independent. The short conversation they’d had yesterday hadn’t revealed much of the reasoning behind Mitch’s desire for a stronger attachment to Scott and he hadn’t wanted to press the matter given Mitch’s sensitive state. 

A trace of a frown flickers on Shawn’s face but he doesn’t speak, waiting for Scott to continue.

“I’m not totally sure what that means yet, but he’s definitely going through some sort of emotional transition right now and need to be there for him. I don’t think I can maintain a genuine romantic relationship with someone else while trying to figure things out with him. I need to take a step back from us.”

The worst part is Shawn’s lack of surprise. He instead looks resigned, as though the news is nothing less than what he expected. That hurts more than if he’d cried and yelled. Only after an agonizing silence does he speak. 

“Was I stupid to think I could be enough?” Although his expression stays calm, his voice wavers slightly, betraying his emotion.

“Shawn….I thought you understood my situation.”

Shawn’s shaking his head, not like he’s disagreeing but more like he’s rejecting the answer entirely.

“Was I stupid?” he repeats more firmly. He doesn’t sound angry necessarily, just determined to get a real answer. 

Scott can’t stand it, can’t stop himself from reaching out to lay a trembling hand on Shawn’s forearm. He waits until Shawn’s eyes meet his before speaking. He considers his answer carefully. It will only hurt so much more for them both if he speaks the truth, but he owes Shawn at least that. 

“You weren’t stupid. You are so much more than enough, Shawn. But I can’t fully appreciate that. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for things to happen like this.”

“So. Just like that? You’re done with me? You don’t need me anymore?”

Even as his heart breaks at the words, Scott still appreciates Shawn’s ability to make such an accusatory statement without the bitterness that usually accompanies such questions. 

“Shawn, no,” his tone pleading, “I’m not just pushing you aside to be with Mitch. You mean so much more to me than that. I don’t want to say goodbye to you, but I have…obligations to Mitch. He’s my family. And I want to be honest with you.”

“Mitch comes first,” Shawn states flatly. “I guess I knew that going in. But—I though that might change, that we’d have time—” Cutting himself off, he sighs and shakes his head. 

“I’ll always care about you, Shawn.”

“Scott don’t,” Shawn begs, looking up at him with pained eyes. 

“I just need you to know.”

Shawn doesn’t answer, and the strong desire to pull him into his arms forces Scott to stand and step away towards the door. Any attempt to console Shawn now will only hurt him further. Shawn looks up at him, looking like he wants to say something for a moment, but seems to decide against it. 

“Does this mean—” His cheeks flush red and he ducks his head before continuing. “Should I start looking for another job?”

The shame he hears in Shawn’s voice hits Scott like a kick in the gut. He hates knowing that he’s not just ending a relationship, he’s disrupting Shawn’s livelihood, his career. He hates that Shawn has to ask him this, as if their relationship has been reduced to nothing but a boss and employee. 

“I’ll leave that up to you,” he replies carefully. “I know it might not be possible right away, but I want to reach a place where we can be friends again, and coworkers too, if that’s what you want.”

Shawn gives a single nod of assent. For now, there is nothing left to say. Wanting to spare Shawn any further humiliation, he walks back to the front door to leave him in peace. 

“Bye Shawn,” he says, not expecting a response. 

“Bye Scott.”

— —

The finality of what just happened strikes Scott as he walks down the front path away from Shawn’s house. He’s knows this isn’t the last time he’ll ever see Shawn, it can’t be, they meant too much to each other, but departing without a physical goodbye accompanied by plans to meet up later leaves Scott feeling hollow. 

Scott gets in his car and makes it no more than two blocks before he’s forced to pull over by the tears blurring his vision. He can’t break down here but he can’t go home and face Mitch. 

Mitch absorbs the emotions of those around him. The acute sensitivity that allows him to empathize so deeply with others never fails to amaze Scott. During a show, they all feed off the energy of the crowd, but an especially energetic audience can put Mitch on another level entirely that can take him hours to come down from. The unique personality trait makes him not only a captivating performer, but contributes to his musical talent as a whole. Scott can’t count the number of times Mitch has played him some obscure, lyric-less song and watched expectantly for his reaction saying, “feel that?” to which Scott usually shrugs, nonplussed. It’s not that he can’t interpret the emotional tone of a song, he just doesn’t feel things as deeply as Mitch, who can be brought to tears by a subtle key change. 

He sees it in action at meet and greets, clubs, or during interviews. While it takes Scott no more than a few minutes of conversation to win people over, Mitch’s interactions are often quieter but more instantaneous. He can unconsciously match the excitement of a bubbly fan, or put an anxious one at ease in seconds. 

Part of Scott envies him for that intense musicality and the connection Mitch can instantly form with the fans but he also knows it can be a burden. Scott’s witnessed both sides up close. He’s watched kids tell Mitch their worries and insecurities, he’s watched Mitch hold them close without hesitation, and he’s watched Mitch lay still for hours as he recovers from the exhaustion that comes with that level of empathetic exertion. That’s part of why Mitch is so cautious about who he allows into his inner circle of friends. He simply can’t tolerate the emotional ebb and flow of more than a few close friends at a time, unlike Scott who can bounce between numerous groups of friends and acquaintances with relative ease. Some mistakenly label Mitch as unapproachable, intimidating, or even cold but someone who watches closely recognizes it as an act of self-preservation. 

Strong as Mitch’s connections to other people can be, he’s most receptive to Scott. In short, going home and exposing Mitch to his raw, undiluted pain could only do more damage than good. He needs a place to process his emotion without the fear of how it will affect Mitch. The prospect of leaving Mitch home alone without warning pains Scott, knowing he’ll worry, knowing he hates sleeping alone in their house. 

At the same time, Mitch knows how to take care of himself. Scott works hard to avoid falling into the trap of over-coddling Mitch to the point of smothering him. It isn’t easy, considering he wants to do anything and everything to make Mitch feel safe, comfortable, and happy. This natural inclination occasionally leads to Scott forgetting his own needs while focusing on Mitch’s, a mistake Mitch is always quick to correct. He might be a little more vulnerable than usual, but Scott’s confidence in his resilience doesn’t waver. Mitch will be fine on his own for a few days.

Without a concrete plan in mind, he pulls out his phone, finds his mom’s contact, and presses “call”. True to form, she answers on the third ring.

“Mom?” Scott tries his best to conceal the wobble in his voice, to no avail. She detects his distress right away.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” 

Scott’s never been much of a secret keeper, he’s pretty much an open book, but he can conceal his emotions when he really needs to. It’s a vitally necessary skill he’s had to master as the complications of fame have revealed themselves to him over the years. Whether it’s a live performance in front of thousands or an interview on live TV, Scott’s well-versed in the art of being open and candid while maintaining a subtle mask of professionalism. But all pretenses fail when his mother speaks to him like that. He can hold it together, convince himself he’s fine, until she asks that simple question with such compassion it’s almost cruel, “are you okay?”

That’s the one question from the one person he can’t dodge or smooth over. 

“N-no,” he admits. “I’m not okay. Can—can I come h-home?” 

The question is out of his mouth before he can even pause to think through the details. He just needs his mom. He keeps the conversation brief, just long enough to receive her assurance that she’ll be waiting for him when he arrives.

He then calls the airlines, who thankfully are able to find him a seat on a flight to Dallas leaving in two hours. He’ll be cutting it close, but it’s his only option. 

Not trusting his voice, Scott types out a text to Mitch. 

“ _Mitch— I’m going to catch a plane to Arlington in an hour, going straight to the airport. Don’t worry, just need be with my parents for awhile. I’m so sorry. Love you. I’ll call you tonight._ ”

A reply comes through only moments later.

“ _Do what you need to do Scotty. I love you too. Give Connie and Rick a hug for me._ ”

So much is left unsaid and Scott laments the fact that Mitch will worry anyway in spite of his attempt to shield him. 

— —

It takes him over forty-five in miserable rush-hour traffic to get to LAX during which he has nothing to distract him.

Leaving his car at the airport, Scott tries his best to hold himself together long enough board the flight. In his distracted state, he fumbles his way through security, forgetting the keys in his pocket and setting off the metal detector. Only when the plane has taken flight does he rest his head back against his seat, feigning sleep, and let a few tears escape from underneath his closed lids.

His mother stands waiting for him at the baggage claim even though he has no luggage to retrieve and Scott melts into the warm hug she offers. He doesn’t understand how his mother’s mere presence can make all of his problems seem more manageable. 

“You’re dad is at home making dinner,” she informs him when they separate.

Scott appreciates that she’d had the foresight to pick him up alone. The drive to Arlington from Dallas takes just over an hour, providing Scott plenty of time to fill her in on the details of what has taken place over the past few days. Without her eyes on him, he manages to maintain his composure throughout without breaking down. She receives the information in thoughtful silence, letting him speak uninterrupted. They’re navigating through the outskirts of Arlington by the time he finishes. Gazing steadily out at the road in front of her, she remains quiet long enough that uncertainty begins to gnaw at his stomach. 

“Mom did I make a huge mistake? Dating Shawn?”

He sees his mother’s eyes flash at the questions and she makes an abrupt right turn into the parking lot of a gas station. She hastily parks the car, shutting off the ignition.

“It wan’t wrong of you to seek out happiness, Scott,” she insists, turning to to look him in the eye. “You’re young, this is just how things happen sometimes when you’re still finding your place in the world. You cross paths with people, get more attached than you mean to, and then have to move on. Things in this stage of life are so transient, but you can’t let that stop you from being around the people you want to be around.”

A little stunned by the unexpected speech, Scott digests her words and his mom’s face softens.

“Do you remember our cat, Peaches?” she asks out of the blue. 

Scott nods and smiles at the distant childhood memory of a fat orange cat and she sighs, leaning back against her seat with a faraway look in her eyes. 

“He was old and grumpy by the time you came along, even more so when you were old enough to be interested in him. We tried to keep you two separated most of the time to give the poor guy some peace but you’d always wander off and find him. You’d clamber up on top of the washing machine to sit with him in the sun. I never understood your love for that cat. He made you sneeze like crazy and he’d scratch if you pet him the wrong way, but you loved him to death, called him your best friend.” She laughs and shakes her head at the recollection. 

“Is there a moral to this story?” Scott quips and she smiles, reaching across the console to grab his hand.

“You’re loyal. To a fault sometimes. It’s one of your best qualities but it makes things—like breakups—very hard on you. Letting go of that loyalty goes directly against what your heart wants to do. I worried about it a lot when you were younger, that you would give that loyalty to someone who didn’t deserve it. It’s an incredible gift, the ability to remain loyal to someone who has hurt you, but I was terrified that someone might take advantage of that part of you. It gave me quite a bit of grief actually.” She glances at him warily before adding, “Especially when you and Mitch got involved. He’d always been such a sweet friend to you but I anticipated only heartache in store for you when you got together.”

Scott remembers her hesitance clearly. As lovesick teenager, there was no hiding his feelings for Mitch from his mother for long. One afternoon, he’d given Mitch a ride home after school and received a kiss on the cheek in gratitude. Upon arriving at his own house pink-cheeked and dazed, his mom gently inquired. 

Having come out to his parents a few weeks prior, he initially felt comfortable telling her about his crush. But the news had made his mother frown. The feeling of being plunged into ice water that accompanied the thought that maybe she really wasn’t okay with him being gay remains vivid memory in Scott’s mind. As soon as she saw his face fall at her negative reaction, Connie had been quick to reassure her son of her unconditional support of his sexuality. She clarified that her only worry involved how romance might hurt his friendship with Mitch.

“Be careful,” she’d warned simply and while Scott tried to follow her advice, he could never seem to recall those words of caution when Mitch was around and things ended up more or less how she’d predicted. 

“I worried about you letting Mitch back in after he broke up with you,” she continues. “I didn’t want you hurt like that again.”

“Are you worried again? About him hurting me?”

“No. You two have always been on your own shared wavelength. I won’t pretend to know exactly how things work between you, but I know he deserves your trust now. He’s proven that time and again these past few years. I’m so proud of how he’s grown.”

“So am I,” Scott manages to say softly through the lump in his throat. The way his mother speaks about Mitch, with such obvious love in her voice as if he is her son too, reassures him that however much this hurts now, he’s made the right choice. But his mind is not yet completely at ease. 

“I do trust him, but _I’m_ worried, Mom.”

“About what sweetheart?” 

“The idea of being with Mitch has always been a little abstract for me. Like, so far in the future I couldn’t fully picture it. And now that it’s right in front of me, I’m having a hard time adjusting to see the details of it. I don’t know what to do next.” 

“There’s no rush Scott. Give yourself time to adjust, Mitch will still be there for you when you’re ready.”

It sounds simple, the way she says it, and Scott knows it won’t be that effortless, but her wisdom comforts him and with only a few more tears and an awkwardly angled hug, Connie restarts the car and drives them the rest of the way home. 

— —

As promised, his dad has his favorite dinner in the oven when they arrive. Scott can’t help but laugh. It’s as if he’s a kid again coming home after a bad day at school. Rick gives him a strong hug, then pulls back to look him over, as if he's inspecting him for damage. Scott’s grateful that his dad doesn’t ask for an immediate explanation; he doesn’t have the energy to go through it all again tonight. He trusts his mom to relay the necessary details to her husband later. 

After dinner, Rick puts on one of their favorite family comfort movies and the three of them settle in on the couch. Scott excuses himself as soon as the movie ends, claiming exhaustion. He gets up and walks back to his childhood bedroom, wanting to be alone with the sound of Mitch’s voice. 

His finger hovers over the FaceTime app for a moment before he changes his mind and instead taps the “voice call” option on Mitch’s contact. It’s not that he’s reluctant to talk to Mitch face to face, but he knows that the lack of visual will provide a level of insulation for them both that will enable more honest conversation. If Mitch could see his facial expressions, Scott would have to be more guarded. He holds his breath while the phone rings. 

“Hi Scott.”

Mitch’s soft voice is hesitant, cautious.

“Hey,” Scott responds in what he hopes is a reassuringly normal tone. 

“Thank you for calling me.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Scott asks.

“Yeah. But I didn’t think you’d really want to.”

“Mitchy, I’m not upset with you. I’m sorry I left like that. I know it was shitty of me but I just needed…”

“Space,” Mitch supplies. “It’s okay Scott, I get it. And I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk about it with but I just. Need to know. If you’re okay.”

It's obvious that Mitch knows something has happened with Shawn but he's giving Scott room to avoid the subject entirely if he wants to. Scott can’t lie, not when Mitch asks like that, so he settles for a brief version of the truth. 

“I’m—I will be okay. Soon. But it still hurts right now.” 

The silence on the other end carries on so long Scott has to check that they’re still connected.

“Mitch?” 

“I should have kept my fucking mouth shut,” Mitch says, voice so quiet Scott can barely understand. “I should have let you be happy with Shawn for as long as possible.”

“Mitch stop!” The command comes out harsher than he intended and Mitch falls silent again. Scott worries he startled him and takes a deep breath and tries again, gentler. “Mitch you can’t do that. We have to tell each other things right? That’s how this works. You already tried holding it in at the expense of your emotional stability. Please don’t do that to yourself again. Please Mitch,” he pleads. 

The “okay” he receives sounds barely more than a whimper and Scott has to clench his fist to stop it shaking.

“Okay,” he breathes, only marginally relieved. He knows it’s not a guarantee that Mitch won’t feel guilty, but a promise that he’ll try not to. “And I do want to talk about it with you when I get home. Not because I feel obligated to but because you’re my best friend. And you’re going to call me tonight if you have trouble sleeping. No matter how late it is.” 

Scott does’t like having to be firm with Mitch like this but knows that sometimes that’s what he needs.

Once Mitch agrees, Scott steers the conversation in a more lighthearted direction. They talk for almost an hour, until Scott can detect a brighter quality to Mitch’s voice that means he’s not stuck in his head anymore. Soon it’s Mitch carrying the conversation, sticking to topics he knows Scott will be able to to chatter aimlessly about. 

Mitch is so many things to him all at once. He’s his family, his soulmate, his love, his desire, inspiration, and encouragement all wrapped up in one. All those moving pieces have a tendency to become cluttered and confusing, trapping Scott in the middle. But tonight, Mitch is nothing more or less the steadfast friend he’s always been. The friend who can poke fun without ever being hurtful and laugh himself to tears. This is the part of Mitch he’s known the longest.

— —

A few quiet days at home is exactly what Scott needs to pick himself up and think things through. It’s strange being at home with no one else but his parents. Usually he comes home at the holidays when the house is noisy and cheerfully crowded with relatives. Now, the house is calm, reminding him of the years after his sisters went off to college when he felt like an only child. The tranquil atmosphere away from the demands of his day to day life gives him the ability to dissect his thoughts. 

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, four days after his arrival home, when his dad sets up the chessboard on the dining room table and beckons him over. Scott smiles. Although he’s come a long way from his fusion-chess days of made up rules and moves, Scott still wouldn’t call himself a chess expert but he enjoys a game every once in awhile. Mitch lacks the patience for chess and can rarely be coaxed into a game so Scott doesn’t get much practice these days. 

Consequently, he doesn’t make for a very competitive opponent and loses three pawns in the first five minutes of the game. His playing only continues to deteriorate from there as he becomes lost in the metaphorical resonances of the chessboard. 

“So you and Shawn are…no longer?” His dad asks gently as he casually claims Scott’s Bishop. 

“Um, no, we’re not.”

“Too bad, I liked him,” his dad says thoughtfully.

“Me too,” Scott agrees at a barely audible volume, frowning at his pieces to avoid his father’s eyes.

“I guess I don’t understand why you got together with him if you knew you’d end up with Mitch.”

Scott knows that the parental concern is normal but the innocent question still feels like an accusation. An accusation he knows he deserves. Scott realizes his dad is just trying to understand him and, painful topic aside, Scott appreciates that he wants to know what’s going on in his love life. While his mom has always been Scott’s go-to for relationship advice and consolation, he trusts his dad with his feelings too. 

“I don’t know, Dad,” Scott admits honestly and searches the chess board, as if he’ll find the answer there. “Shawn was….a pawn,” he decides, grasping at a way to explain that will make sense to his dad. 

In chess, each piece plays a different role, possesses a unique ability. The pawns are the most numerous yet the least powerful. In direct contrast to the pawn, there’s the Queen. She controls the game, the King depends on her. She’s his primary protector and savior and without her, the King is left defenseless, weak, vulnerable. It’s unlikely, but there is one way in which the pawn can achieve the elusive class mobility: by traversing the board, across the battlefield to reach the opposite side. Only then can a lowly pawn transform into a faux-queen, a replacement, a stand-in for the real Queen.  


“A pawn?” Rick presses. 

“Yeah. Shawn, Alex, all the guys I’ve dated. They were pawns. Small, temporary pieces in my life, but each one could have moved all the way across the board and become a substitute Queen. I could have fallen in love with any of them and decided they were enough for me. The same could have happened with Mitch, with his pawns.” Scott remembers how close they’ve come at times, to settling, allowing another to fill that space. Mitch with Travis and Scott with Alex. 

“The potential for us to find someone else, for a pawn to cross the board, was always there but the chance of it happening so low.” 

The more he thought about it the more sense it made. Each captured pawn presents an opportunity for something to be gained. When he was little and just learning the rules of chess, Scott thought of the pawns as practice pieces, the loss of which would be momentarily painful, but would show him what he’d done wrong and teach him what to do to keep his more important pieces safe like the Bishop, the King, his Queen. 

“Why didn’t it happen? With Shawn?” 

“I already have a Queen,” Scott explains softy. “The original, the one who’s supposed to stand by my side. A pawn turned Queen could fill the same role, but would always be nothing but an imitation of the real thing.” 

Rick’s warm smile communicates his understanding, but then turns to an evil grin as he slides his knight into position.

“Checkmate.”

Scott grins back and shrugs, flicking over his King piece as a signal of defeat.

That brief reflection reminds Scott of how precarious his with position with Mitch is. The persistent longing he’s felt for Mitch all week intensifies to that almost unbearable point he always reaches after a few days without him. He wants him back by his side. It’s time to go home.

**********

Here's a sketch of Queen Mitch for you since we didn't get to see him this chapter :)

 


	6. Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch wakes up to face the music…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! For awhile I was having a crisis of direction, trying to decide where I want to go with this story. Just a heads up for everyone, if I ever actually finish it I think I’ve decided that this story won’t have a traditional happy ending. Instead, I’ve decided to stick as close to reality as possible. It won’t be an unhappy ending, it just won’t be the classic ‘ride off into the sunset’ type. I just don’t want anyone to be caught off-guard or disappointed. Anyways, enjoy!

It’s only moments after he’s hung up from Scott’s evening check-in that the heavy feeling settles down on Mitch’s chest. It’s a feeling he experiences so rarely that it takes him awhile to remember its name. Loneliness. 

Being alone is something Mitch doesn’t usually mind, but being home without Scott is very different to traveling without him. On the few occasions that Mitch has left him behind in LA for a visit home or somewhere else, he misses Scott like crazy but has a different environment or people to distract him. At home, Scott’s absence is inescapable and presses in on him from every side. 

The past four days of are definitely part of the problem, but it’s layered on top of the fact that in general, they haven’t seen each other much lately. The past few months have been an adjustment for them both now that they aren’t touring constantly. While adjusting to their newfound freedom, they’ve kept plenty busy with endless rounds of concerts, parties, and other such events. It’s slightly hectic, but there’s a rhythm to it all. 

He and Scott often start off their evenings together, but end up branching off to join their separate friend groups and eventually getting home late, or not coming home at all. Then meetings, brunch dates, workouts, or the simple chore of getting home from whoever’s house they slept at occupies their mornings. This leaves them the afternoons when they’re both home, resting up before the next evening’s activities. Those afternoons with Scott are like Mitch’s sanity break when they both have a second to relax and enjoy each other’s company. 

After four days of eerily quiet afternoons, Mitch is exhausted. Somehow, lying around at home by himself is more tiring than a packed tour schedule. He lets himself wallow in the misery for just a few minutes before pulling himself together. It’s time for some tough self-love. He starts with a kale salad on the porch, letting the evening LA sun warm his skin. Then, he switches his phone to “airplane mode”, cutting off all distractions so he can focus on himself. 

He spends longer than usual picking out an outfit. It’s a muted look, a watered-down version of his current style. Contrary to his usual efforts to underscore his originality with his clothing, he’s looking to blend in tonight while still maintaining his customary “don’t touch me” vibe. He wants to look unassuming but not approachable. It’s a fine line to walk, but he thinks the black leather jacket, t-shirt, and jeans achieve the desired effect. Mitch recognizes that there’s something methodical, almost mechanical about the process, the way he’s pulling himself together piece by piece, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. He might never get out of the house otherwise. 

Usually, being around strangers without the comfort of at least one person he knows by his side sets off his social anxiety, but he’s found a way around it. In a small, dark club with music loud enough to prevent any sort of conversation, people become a single, non-threatening entity, nothing more than a mass of bodies moving in sync. 

Walking into one of his favorite clubs, his body language shifts almost unconsciously as he begins to let his masculinity overtake his femininity. Pulling his shoulders back, tipping his chin up slightly, and letting his eyelids slip down to hood his eyes, he projects a sort of arrogance he normally avoids. His lips quirk into a subtle smirk as he recognizes the affectation he’s assuming. It’s an old habit from high school, a tool he used to mask his homosexuality. Back then, he shied away from the idea that he might be gay, clinging to his straight facade. Now, he wears that identity proudly, like the glittering Balenciaga belt encircling his waist, and greets the masculine energy as an old friend, one who no longer poses any threat to who he truly is. He rejoices in the reconciliation and steps onto the dance floor. 

Like going to dinner or the movies alone, it feels a little off not being surrounded by friends, but thrilling at the same time. Comfortable in the rare moment of anonymity, Mitch dances until his muscles absorb the residual ache in his chest, disseminating the pain of missing Scott to the rest of his body. The hot water of the bath he soaks in after arriving home alleviates the lingering discomfort, leaving him feeling a little more like himself.  


— —

What little relief he’d found last night is gone by the time he wakes.

He considers calling someone, Austin maybe, for company but decides against it. The kind of companionship Austin provides is very different from what he wants now. As much as he loves and looks up to Austin, with whom he can dissect the finer points of the most recent clothing lines, he’d much rather have Scott here to roll his eyes at his fashion addiction. Several hours and hundreds of dollars of online shopping later, Mitch closes his laptop firmly in an an attempt at self control.

Longing for escape from the lagging afternoon that makes him so restless, Mitch wanders aimlessly to Scott’s room and lies down on his bed. Unlocking his phone, he turns “airplane mode” off and sighs at the deluge notifications that begin to flood in. Choosing to ignore the overwhelming influx of texts and notifications, Mitch simply opens Twitter and scrolls aimlessly through his feed. He checks in on some of the fandom chatter that usually cheers him up, but finds them speculating about Shawn’s recent unfollowing of both he and Scott. 

Filled with renewed dismay, he switches to Instagram to confirm the claims. Reason tells Mitch that Shawn probably didn’t do it for any reason other than to protect himself, but another voice in his head worries that Shawn must surely hate him now. Letting out a loud groan of frustration at himself, Mitch puts on his headphones and selects a hypnotic album by an artist he’s recently come across, letting the music gradually wash away his concept of time and sense of self. 

Curled comfortably on his side, he’s nearly asleep when the vibration of a text disrupts his musical meditation. Upon seeing that it’s Scott, he quickly taps the message to open it.

_“You shouldn’t have your music so loud, a murderer could be waiting in the doorway and you wouldn’t even know it.”_

Mitch sits up dizzyingly quick and his head whips automatically toward the door to find Scott standing there, looking tired but happy.

He leaps off the bed, the headphones still tangled around him pulling his phone to the floor with a loud clatter that he couldn’t care less about. As reason overtakes his enthusiasm Mitch falters, wondering if Scott will even want a hug from him but a quick search of Scott’s eyes banishes his uncertainty and Scott opens his arms with a fond, “get over here”. He steps forward and lets himself be enveloped by Scott, who buries a chuckle in Mitch’s neck. They hug tightly for a moment and then they simply stand, holding one another. Scott’s got one arm wrapped securely around Mitch’s waist and the other is trailing up and down his back, up and down. Mitch nuzzles his face into Scott’s plain cotton t-shirt and inhales deeply. He smells different than usual, but Mitch is struck by the overwhelming but distant familiarity of the scent. Evidently Connie’s still using the same laundry detergent she did when they were in high school. Mitch sighs, in awe of olfactory system’s ability to recall memories more vividly than any other sense.

When they eventually separate, Mitch gives Scott a light smack on the shoulder. 

“Hey, what’s that for?” Scott protests.

“For being a fucking creep,” Mitch chastises lightly. 

“Hey I’m the one that came home to a zombie in my bed.” 

Mitch rolls his eyes, ignoring the playful jab. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back?” he asks. 

“I tried to call,” Scott answers indignantly. “Several times actually.”

“Oh right, my phone was off. Needed a break.”

Scott nods understandingly. 

“Thanks for coming home,” Mitch adds sincerely. 

“I’ll always come home to you.”

— —

Scott wants to stretch his legs after sitting on the plane, so they decide to take a short walk around the neighborhood. The rhythm of their steps prompts a steady flow of words from Scott’s mouth as he gives Mitch a detailed description of what happened with Shawn. 

All things considered, it’s not as bad as Mitch has been imagining. It’s common practice for them to discuss their hookup stories, relationship troubles, and break ups, but this time feels much heavier. This time Scott’s not just asking for advice or a listening ear, he’s recounting a sacrifice he has made for Mitch. 

“So that brings us to…us,” Scott concludes just as they arrive back at their doorstep. He pauses to unlock the door and they settle in on the couch before he continues. “You said you were ready…I guess I need some clarification on what that means.”

“I’m not asking you to put a ring on it Scotty,” Mitch jokes, managing to lighten Scott’s serious mood a little. “I don’t even necessarily mind you dating other people, it’s just the situation that poses some problems.”

“Is it jealousy that bothers you?” Scott probes. 

“No,” Mitch shakes his head. Rather it than sparking jealousy or animosity, he and Shawn had bonded over their mutual love of the blond-haired man. “I mean, it’s not like I never get jealous seeing you with other guys, but there’s more to it than that. The issue with you being so involved with someone else is that I feel like I have to hold back until we’re both single. It’s having a piece of you that’s unavailable to me that makes it tough. I know that we agreed to always talk openly about our feelings, but it’s a lot harder for me to do that when someone else’s wellbeing is involved. Even more so when I really like them, like Shawn. Does that make sense?”

“I’d never considered that,” Scott admits. “I always want you to get along with the guys I date, but never thought about how that might put you in a tough spot, create a barrier in our communication.” He looks deeply troubled by the realization. “What have you been holding back?”

Mitch takes a minute to ponder his answer, thinking about the reasons behind his self-imposed isolation. When he was really little and first learning how to tie his shoes, he would insist on tying them by himself even though he always ended up with a huge mess of knots that took forever to untangle. So that super stubborn independence has long been a part of him, but then Scott became an even bigger part. Sometimes it feels like those different parts are at war with each other. He wants so badly to build his confidence on his own and to cope with his anxiety without help, but he’s starting to come to terms with the fact that he needs Scott on his side entirely to fight this battle.

“You know that saying, ‘you can’t love anyone until you love yourself’?” he asks and Scott nods. “Well I believed it for awhile, and I wanted to work through my insecurities on my own. I think it’s my natural inclination to be independent and do things my own way, on my own terms. But but now I think that philosophy is its bullshit. Or at least its not that black an white for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve realized that you are such a huge piece of who I am that trying to build myself up all on my own without your help won’t work. I’ll keep collapsing again and again if I don’t let you in. I still need my independence but I can’t keep holding myself to unrealistic standards that don’t apply to our situation.” 

“Mitch, I’m always here for you. One hundred percent. Maybe I haven’t made that clear enough…”

“Scott, no!” Mitch grabs his arm, needing him to hear this loud and clear. “That’s not what I was saying at all. I know you’re here for me, always. I just wasn’t fully willing to accept your help. I had this idea that once I got rid of my anxiety, I’d finally be in the right place, I’d be ready…but now I know that it’s not just gonna go away and pulling back from you only makes things worse.”

Scott sits silently for awhile, processing the new information and chewing his bottom lip. 

“Sorry, I know dumping all this shit on you isn’t fair. Probably isn’t the most enticing thing either…” Mitch worries aloud. 

“You don’t have to _entice_ me, Mitchy. I’m already here,” Scott assures him. “Besides, you’re supposed to dump your shit on me that’s what I’m here for,” he laughs as he moves in for a tickle attack that Mitch discourages with a vicious slap to his arm. Scott settles for pulling Mitch in for a hug.

“You know I want you though, right?” Mitch mumbles into his shoulder, reclaiming the serious mood. “I’m not just an unstable mess that I’m asking you to clean up.” 

“Mitch,” Scott sighs, squeezing him tighter. “I know. I want you too. Obviously. My messy boy.”

Part of Mitch is dying to just throw his caution to the winds and jump in headfirst with Scott, but another part knows that this is too precious to be careless with. This isn’t some random hookup without repercussions, this is Scott, so he extracts himself from Scott’s arms.

“I know we decided that adding anything seriously romantic between us would complicate things too much,” he says, “but I think things are different now. We’re older now, we know ourselves and each other better. I think it’s actually more complicated to keep trying to avoid feeling that way. I think that’s what caused me to snap. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“I agree, I’m just not really sure how to go about this,” Scott explains. “Are we exclusive now?”

Mitch understands his concern. There aren’t exactly many guide books on how to embark on a romantic relationship with someone who is your best friend of 15 years, soulmate, ex-boyfriend, and current roommate. They’re already _together_ in so many ways, it should be easy to make this transition, but so many years of carefully set boundaries makes the prospect a little daunting to say the least. 

“I don’t think we should worry about setting solid perimeters yet. We should just start by letting our guard down a little. Bit by bit. We don’t have to go all in all at once, we can just see how things go and reassess as needed,” Mitch suggests. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees while not looking fully convinced. “But I worry about how easy it is for me to lose myself with you,” he confesses, apprehension evident in his voice. “I can barely get you out of my head as it is. It’s going to be a lot harder once we start getting closer like that. You have to know that if we’re doing this, I’m not going to be interested in seeing anyone else so even if we’re not officially exclusive, it will be on my side of things.”

“Believe me, I’m not thinking about anyone else like that right now either. Besides, I think we need to focus exclusively on us for awhile. Even if we’re not explicitly _exclusive_.” 

“So, we’re going to try out being together, but in like a casual kind of way?”

“Yes. Well, as casual as we can, given the circumstances. But I know you still need time. The ball’s in your court, Scott.”

— —

It’s evening by the time the finish talking so they order food and start to share the more menial details of their few days apart. 

Scott, probably tired from the travel and all the emotional labor he’s gone through, decides to head to bed early and Mitch, looking forward to a restful night’s sleep in the no longer empty house follows suit not long after. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs as he’s about to turn to his own room, a soft glow emanating from Scott’s room catches his eye. He hears the familiar theme music from Super Mario Odyssey. Peeking his head in the door, he sees Scott with a console in his hands, focused on his character on the TV in front of his bed, who is running around a tropical beach. 

“Hey I thought you were soooo exhausted,” Mitch chides playfully. 

Scott pauses the game and shoots him a sheepish grin. “I am!” he contests, stretching and yawning theatrically. “But I’m addicted to this new Super Mario. Wanna finish this level.”

“God, it’s good to have you home,” Mitch sighs.

— —

Mitch wakes mere hours later to a melody in his mind. Despite still being more than half-asleep, a sense of urgency overtakes him and he kicks impatiently at his tangled covers to free himself. He stumbles up the stairs, humming the notes of his song in an attempt to hold onto the music that’s slipping away from with every step him as he falls into wakefulness. He all but runs to the piano, pushes back the cover, and settles his hands on the cool ivory keys. Closing his eyes he lets the soft sweet hug of sleep embrace him again just enough to coax the song out from the shadows. His fingers fumble at first, his body not as awake as his mind, but then the music leads him.

A creak behind him causes Mitch to elicit a rather undignified screech and he gives himself a crick in his neck from turning around so fast, expecting to finally make the acquaintance of the ghost that inhabits their house but finds only a rumpled Scott. 

“Mitch it’s two in the morning,” he rasps. 

“Shhhhhhhhhhshutup,” Mitch pleads, unable to feel bad about waking Scott with something more pressing at hand. “My phone Scott, I need my phone, or yours it doesn’t matter just bring me a phone.”

“Mitch why—”

“Now Scott!” he insists urgently and turns back to the piano, playing the melody over and over to keep it from evaporating into thin air. A moment later, his phone is set carefully in front of him and he unlocks it hastily to start recording. He plays the melody through a few times, then relaxes and lets his eyes slip shut again, no longer afraid of losing it, and lets his fingers move where they want. He has no sense of how much time passes, he thinks maybe he’s fallen back to sleep partially but eventually the music in his mind softens and his fingers slow. 

The moment of energetic inspiration fades as quickly as it came and he sags on the piano bench, suddenly overcome with exhaustion like the music drained him completely on its way out. Scott, who apparently stuck around to listen, squeezes onto the bench next to him and Mitch doesn’t attempt to stop his head from flopping sideways to rest against his shoulder. 

“That’s so beautiful Mitchy,” he murmurs, reaching out and closing a hand around Mitch’s wrist. He pulls his hand toward him and studies his palm, tracing the lines, like he’s searching for the source of the music in them. 

“This is what made me love you, when we were ten years old,” Scott whispers. “I remember it so clearly. The music wasn’t just in your voice.” Mitch shivers as he feels Scott’s fingers brush up his throat. “It was in your hands and your eyes too.” Scott traces a figure eight around his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. “I thought I loved music before, but then I met the human embodiment of it and fell head over heels.”

He loves the way Scott supplements his words with physical touch. He loves the way his hands are quiet, sure, and steady. No one else touches Mitch like this. Some try, but there’s always an underlying hint of insecurity in their touches that soaks into Mitch’s skin, like they are afraid to touch him the wrong way, like he’s a wild animal that could bolt at any second and leave them in the dust. Scott has somehow developed an immunity to that intimidating air Mitch effortlessly exudes. 

Mitch is only just awake enough to register that there’s some sort of _moment_ happening and that he’s probably supposed to respond to the emotional statement Scott’s just made. Regretfully, his capacity for language seems to have vanished but that doesn’t stop him from making one muddled attempt. 

“I—you’re—I’m…”

“It’s okay,” Scott assures softly, “go back to sleep queen,” he says with a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

— —

When he wakes again, Mitch is groggy and still tired, despite the angle of the sun that indicates late morning or early afternoon. He gropes at the bedside table, fingers searching for his phone but encounters nothing. 

“Whatthefuck?” he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His duvet hangs off one side of the bed, almost entirely on the floor and his phone is still nowhere to be seen. 

The faint sound of Scott singing floats down to him from upstairs, pulling him out of bed. He follows the sound to its source and finds Scott sitting cross legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a mess of papers. His back is to Mitch and he’s humming and muttering to himself, completely in his own world. The tune sounds familiar, and it all comes flooding back, his middle-of-the-night inspiration.

Mitch steps gingerly around the papers littering the floor and sits down next to him, puling him out of his deep concentration. 

“Morning,” Scott smiles. His voice sounds tired and rough, not from sleep but overuse, like it does after a show or a long day in the studio. The brightness in his eyes contrasts starkly with the dark circles underneath them and his hair hangs in loose, stringy waves like it does when he runs his hand through it too many times. He’s beautiful. 

“Hi,” Mitch breathes.

“Sleep well?” 

“Better than you, it looks like.” 

“Yeah, I couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

“You’ve been awake this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Scott admits.

“Doing what?”

Scott searches through the pile of notes, then hands him a one that has his melody transposed onto blank sheet music.

“I wrote some lyrics and if you hate them it’s totally fine I don’t want you to feel pressured to use them, you don’t even have to look at them if you already had something else in mind I just—” Mitch shushes him with a brush of his fingertips against his lips. 

“Sing to me Scott,” he murmurs. Scott gazes at him for a long moment, cheeks reddening slightly. 

“My voice sounds like shit right now,” he warns but Mitch shakes his head, silently disagreeing, and gazes at Scott expectantly. He secretly loves when Scott’s tired voice, raspy and strained, after he’s sung his heart out. 

“Okay,” he says softly, smiling shyly and proceeds to sing through several versions of the chorus he’s written.

“I’m starting to get stuck here though. I can’t get this part to sound right,” he laments, pointing to the bottom of the page where he’s re-written the line and scribbled it out multiple times. Mitch hums it through a few times, tweaking the notes a little, then grabs the pen from Scott.

“What about this?” Mitch suggests, passing the page back to Scott. He sings Mitch’s revision through once and grins.

“That’s it!” 

Songwriting rarely works out like this. Over the past couple of months working on Superfruit music, they’ve gotten a taste of how tricky it can be to create original music. Although it’s rewarding, it also entails an exhausting, almost soul-sucking process of trial and error, vulnerability, and raw emotion. Even between just the two of them, with their near telepathic ability to understand one another, coming to a consensus when writing or arranging is a big challenge. But this is one of those rare, magical moments when the words just come, requiring only minimal coaxing to match up with the established melody. They spend the next hour passing the paper back and forth, tweaking and perfecting the lyrics and harmonies, ignoring their rumbling stomachs. 

“Scott, it’s perfect,” Mitch sighs when they’re both satisfied with the result and he’s not exaggerating. They’ve created a song with lyrics that speak to their past, present, and future all at the same time. It’s a true collaboration, created with an equal amount of influence from each of them. 

“I can’t wait to record this,” Scott enthuses. “I’m gonna call the studio right now to see if they can fit us in today.”

Mitch, still high on the feeling, is about to agree when he notices that Scott’s eyes are wide, a little too wide.

They’ve done enough all-night video shoots together for Mitch to be familiar with Scott’s unique response to extreme sleep deprivation. Like most people, he’ll get cranky when he’s been awake too many hours, but if he pushes through that stage, he becomes giddy, almost delirious. Mitch thinks of it as going past the point of no return, like his battery has been drained so low that the backup generator kicks in, making it impossible for Scott to calm down. Sometimes it makes him neurotic to the point that he can’t stop stressing about anything and everything. Other times he’ll become giggly and starts laughing at nothing. 

He manages to talk Scott out of calling the studio, but knows it’s pointless to try to get him to bed now. Once Scott gets to this place, there’s nothing anyone can do to bring him back. Might as well ride this wave until it crashes. 

Luckily, today Scott’s exhaustion is just manifesting in an excessive amount of giggles. When Mitch is equally exhausted, this version of Scott tends to test his patience but being reasonably well rested today he can fully enjoy Scott’s delirium.

He’s doing that thing too, that impossibly cute thing. Mitch calls it “gentleman-ing people to death”. It’s Scott’s special form of chivalry, only he doesn’t do it just with the guys he’s interested in. He does it to everyone, insisting on pouring drinks, holding doors, and doing all the heavy lifting. On more than one hilarious occasion, Scott has unintentionally given the wrong impression to girls who’ve learned to expect such behavior only from men pursuing them. Mitch finds it both endearing and funny, his apparent inability to even take a bite of food without offering everyone else a bite too.

It’s not just Scott being polite though, it’s more than that. Its like he _has_ to share. Mitch supposes its just a part of his deeply social nature. Whether its going to a concert or watching a movie or trying a new food, it’s like Scott’s addicted to the feeling of looking at someone and knowing that they’re experiencing the same thing he is. 

After Scott offers him some of his Trix cereal for the third time, Mitch puts his foot down. 

“Finish your heart-disease cereal, go brush your teeth, and go to bed.” 

Unfortunately that just sets off another round of giggles.

“You are _incorrigible_ ,” Mitch says, trying his best to sound exasperated rather than amused.

The flash of a text brightening the screen of his phone distracts him, and he would’ve just ignored it if he hadn’t glimpsed the name. Shawn. The complete silence from him led Mitch to assume he’d deleted his number and wanted nothing to do with him. Mitch grabs his phone and reads the message though once, twice, then wordlessly hands the phone to Scott, who sobers instantly once he’s read the message. 

“He wants you to come over?”

Mitch nods slowly. 

“Do you want to go?”

Mitch isn’t sure. He assumed he would be the last person Shawn wants to talk to. What could he want? To voice his disgust with Mitch? Cuss him out maybe? Mitch knows that’s not in Shawn’s nature, but he can’t imagine anything else. 

“Yeah, I do,” he finally decides. Mitch owes Shawn the opportunity to say he needs to say to him, whatever it is. “Is that okay?”

“You don’t need my permission, Mitch,” Scott says. “But if you feel comfortable going, I think you should.”

“Do you want me to drive you? I could just drop you off and pick you up.” Scott suggests. It doesn’t escape Mitch’s notice, the sacrifice Scott’s offering to make, volunteering to drive him to a place that would make him sad just to make Mitch more comfortable. 

Mitch considers it briefly, but declines. “Thank you, but I’ll be okay on my own. Besides, you definitely shouldn’t be driving right now. Go take a nap, I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

He decides to drive his Tesla instead of calling an Uber, even though he absolutely hates driving in L.A. He doesn’t want to be stuck waiting around for his ride if things go badly. The whole affair feels dreadfully formal, like he’s going to a job interview or something instead of visiting a close (or once-close) friend. 

He climbs out of the car immediately upon parking in front of Shawn’s house, giving himself no time to get cold feet, and strides determinedly up the walkway.

“Hey Mitch, up here,” Shawn’s voices startles him. 

Disoriented, he looks for the source of the voice and finds Shawn smiling down at him from his rooftop. He has to bite back a giggle of surprise. Shawn hangs out up there with friends a lot but he’s alone now. 

“Do you want to come up or should I come down?” Shawn asks. 

“I’ll join you,” Mitch replies.

“Okay, I’ll meet you on the other side,” Shawn says and disappears over the peak of the roof. 

Mitch walks around the side of the house to the backyard where a ladder stands leaning up against the roof. Shawn climbs down the ladder and envelopes Mitch in an unexpected hug.

“Hey Mitch,” he murmurs, pulling back after a brief embrace to give him a small smile, then hold the ladder while Mitch ascends it. 

They sit down side by side and look out at the setting sun. Mitch reflects on how different things were the last time he was up here. There had been a big group of them, talking and laughing. Now it’s quiet and slightly tense as he waits for Shawn to reveal his motivations for asking him here. 

“I know how pathetic this must look,” Shawn finally says, “me talking to you instead of Scott. But I just can’t face him yet. And I actually do want to talk to you Mitch, I’ve missed you.”

“You’re not pathetic. I’m just glad you don’t hate me,” Mitch admits softly to which Shawn smiles and shakes his head. 

“I’m not angry with you. Scott and I were looking for different things,” he says. “I guess I knew that going in but thought he might change. I could tell right away how much he cared about you, but I figured that if he was really going to get together with you, he would’ve done it a long time ago. Scott didn’t strike me as the type to wait around for things, he goes after what he wants.” 

Mitch isn’t surprised by this perspective. Most people assume that there’s some dark, painful past or hidden reason why two people so seemingly perfect for one another wouldn’t just seal the deal.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Shawn clarifies again. “This might sound odd, but it was you that made me fall in love with Scott, at least at first.” 

Flummoxed and thoroughly confused Mitch frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks softly. 

“When I first started editing Superfruit videos, the first thing I noticed was the way he looks at you. The intensity with which he listens when you speak and how he touches you every chance he gets. I was fascinated, but expected nothing. Why would he ever look at me with you next to him? But he did. All for nothing though. He’s yours now.”

“We haven’t—we’re not really—together yet,” Mitch offers clumsily, knowing its a minuscule consolation, if any. 

“Really?” Shawn asks, disbelieving. 

“He’s still pulling himself back together after ending things with you. It wasn’t easy for him.” 

“Part of me thought he’d already started something with you before he dumped me.”

“He would never,” Mitch answers maybe a little too defensively, choosing to ignore that the statement was as much a dig at him as it was Scott. He can deal with his own name being clouded with questionable decency but not Scott’s. When Scott makes up his mind about someone, he doesn’t waver. 

“Yeah, I know he wouldn’t,” Shawn placates, seeming to sense he touched a nerve. “But it sort of felt good to think that. I know Scott always has the best intentions, but that just makes it hurt more, unfortunately.”

There’s no animosity laced in his voice, and Mitch’s heart aches at the sound of Shawn’s sadness bleeding through his thoughtful tone. That’s Shawn, reasonable to a fault, eternally forgiving, quietly selfless. 

“I don’t regret what happened though,” Shawn concludes.

“No one ever regrets loving Scott Hoying” Mitch states simply. It’s a fact he knows to be true. 

“Exactly,” Shawn agrees. “It’s impossible.”


End file.
